Shadows & Light: A Union of Souls
by CheleSedai
Summary: A mysterious stalker and odd dream lead The Tomorrow People to an even more mysterious man, who could be Ami's only hope. First in the Shadows & Light Series.
1. Prologue

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## A Union of Souls, Prologue

by [Michele Mason Bumbarger][1]

* * *

They were sheep. No, they were worse than sheep. They were insects; they were annoying little ants wheedling away time in the glass confines of their ant farms. Tiny little people living their tiny little lives and scurrying to and fro as if their needs and missions were the most important things in the world. They were too blind and too ignorant to even know that more existed in the world than what they saw and felt with their meager five senses. They were at his mercy; his mercy and those like him. The creatures of shadow and night, born of darkness and born to bring the world pain. Someday, when the Old Ones came again, they would be crushed. They would live their puny lives in misery, and that would be a glorious time.

But until then, he could find other ways to use them for his own personal amusement.

"Mr. Cordovan, sir?" The voice, polite and crisp, interrupted his musings.

Kristoph Cordovan, for that was his name in this time and place, did not turn away from his picture window. He recognized the voice, and even if he had not, it would have given him no fear or cause for alarm. His Hollywood Hills fortress was impenetrable; no one entered the wrought iron gates that he did not want to enter. If by some fluke an undesirable did make it past his gates, they had to get past his security force -- a nearly impossible feat, particularly if his select breed of security had not fed recently.

This voice, that of one of the thousands of fragile mortals that inhabited the world, was familiar and even welcome. After all, even some insects were beneficial.

"Yes, Phillippe?" Cordovan did not pull his gaze from the picturesque view. All of Los Angeles sprawled beneath him, a jungle of concrete and glass as far as the eye could discern. Flickering lights danced gold and white against the dark canopy of the night sky. The nighttime was his time. The darkness made him feel powerful, invincible. He could walk in the daylight, but the blood of his father, the demon blood that moved through his veins made him a creature of the night.

"That issue with Elizabeth Rodin has been resolved." Via the reflection in the picture window, Cordovan watched his young lawyer place his briefcase on the coffee table and begin to remove papers. "There is no chance that the police will be able to connect you with her . . . unfortunate accident. I have here your travel itinerary for the night of her . . . accident. You and Giselle were enjoying a romantic weekend away."

Accident. How he loved these humans and their euphemisms. Accident -- what a properly polite way to describe the woman's death. A death that saddened Cordovan, but a death that had been necessary. The woman had been a wonderful aid and assistant; she would have been a wonderful asset to Cerulean Enterprises, but the same brilliant mind and burning curiosity that had placed her by his side also signed her death warrant. Elizabeth asked too many questions, found out too many answers. But rather than bite her lip and turn the other way, she threatened him with exposure. She threatened to go to the police.

No one threatened Kristoph Cordovan and lived. 

Elizabeth learned that the hard way. He remembered the shock in her blue eyes as his hands closed around her throat; he remembered her terror as he reached into her chest and wrapped his hand around her still beating heart. 

The newspaper described the crime as 'grisly,' but Cordovan disagreed. He always believed that there was beauty in death.

"Thank you, Phillippe." Cordovan raised his glass of cognac to his lips, savoring the smell of the drink before sipping. He drank to the insects scurrying in the streets below. He drank to the dependability and skill of Phillippe's law firm, Wolfram & Hart. And, he drank to Elizabeth. She had died well. Terrified, but with pride.

"It was our pleasure, Mr. Cordovan. We strive to protect the interests, all of the varied and diverse interests, of our varied and diverse clients." Phillippe straightened, and looked directly into the glass window. He and Cordovan had stood in this room often enough and talked with the window open and the lights dimmed for long enough for Phillippe to know that his client was aware of his every action. "Will you be needing anything else, sir?"

"No, that will be all."

Phillippe nodded, and with a bow of his head, gathered his leather briefcase and turned to leave. Cordovan watched as Phillippe suddenly stopped, as though he had collided with something, although nothing was reflected in the window. The lawyer made a wide berth around the nonreflecting obstacle, but somehow managed to keep his aplomb and dignity in tact. It was one of Phillippe's most admirable traits. 

Cordovan waited until the lawyer was gone before directing his attention to the company that currently shared this room with him. He could not see the creature, but he didn't need to. Cordovan had sensed him the moment he entered, and he sensed him now, hovering in the background, waiting to be acknowledged.

He took another sip of cognac. In the distance he could hear the soft click-clack of a woman's heels on the polished Spanish tiles beyond his private offices. Ah, the benefits of what his mother had called his 'tainted blood.' "Did you procure the book, Derrick?"

"Yes. It wasn't much of a challenge, sir."

Turning, Cordovan could not supress a bemused grin. It only widened when he saw the vampire's defiant pose. Hazel eyes met his gaze, seemingly glazed with boredom, but Cordovan knew better. Just as Derrick's appearance was deceiving – his striking model looks drew women to him like magnets, trusting him with their lives, which they very soon lost – he knew that the vampire was ever alert and missed nothing. "Does everything have to be a challenge for you? I thought that even you would like – how do they say it on the streets – an easy score – every now and then."

"Easy gets boring and I like excitement." The vampire dumped the contents of his knapsack unceremoniously onto the coffee table, the old worn leather-bound tome spilling out. Cordovan flinched at the disrespect the undead creature gave to the book, but said nothing. Derrick was an asset, although he was at times stubborn and obstinate, and an asset such as Derrick could be indulged occasionally. "When I get bored, I start to find my own entertainment and you don't seem to like that very much."

"That's because I need you here, not running amok through the streets of LA feeding at your leisure." Cordovan set his glass on the bar and strolled casually towards the vampire. He stopped at the table and leaning forward, ran his fingers lightly over the cover of the book. "The woman was not a problem?"

Derrick snorted. "No more than a child would be."

"The body?"

"There was no body."

Cordovan paused in lifting the cover of the book, turning his gaze to Derrick. "I don't like the sound of that, Derrick."

"I told you, I don't like to get bored." A slight smile turned up the corners of the vampire's mouth, a dangerous smile that made the blood of others congeal. "Besides, I thought you might want her alive a bit longer – in case you need help with that book."

"You doubt me, Derrick? I'm so disappointed," the melodic voice that drifted across the room brought the first genuine smile to Cordovan's face that evening. Even before he raised his head to gaze in her direction, he was be-spelled – as he had been for years. She may have only been human, but she was a human like no other he had ever met or would ever meet. 

Tall and shapely, with large green eyes and skin the color of mocha, she glided into the room with a feline grace that Cordovan had seen turn even the most faithful of men into slobbering idiots. Ebony hair fell to her waist in waves, highlights glittering blue under the low lights of the room. A perfectly manicured hand reached around him, lacquered black nails scraping down the cover of the book. When she spoke, her voice accent was a mixture of southern velvet and Caribbean magic. "Still, it can't hurt to have an academic mind around until I've fully translated this jewel."

"And then, Giselle?" Derrick was not easily persuaded.

With a twinkling smile that would have melted a mortal man where he stood, Giselle patted the vampire lightly on the chest. "And then, the fun begins. Once the Enslavement has been completed, everything will change."

"And what is the Enslavement? You keep going on about it, but you aren't exactly handing out information." Very few would have stood before Giselle with such scorn and challenge in their voice, very few dared to question the woman that even the vampires secretly referred to as the 'Dark Witch.' It was part of Derrick's arrogance and egocentrism that made him so bold. That, and Giselle's genuine fondness for the centuries old creature.

"And you ask too many questions," Giselle turned away, her attention refocused on the leather bound tome. "You need to trust me, Derrick. I've never let you down before, and I've certainly never failed. When the Enslavement is completed, it will be our finest hour. Have faith. And patience."

Emerald eyes still sparkling, this time with a passion and desire that could only be rivaled by pure lust, Giselle sank to the sofa closest to the tome and the coffee table. Her hands lovingly caressed the cover, her whisper caressing the entire room. "Above all things, have patience."

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[Next Part][2]

   [1]: mailto:shadows@alternate-realities.net
   [2]: sl-auos1.html



	2. Chapter One

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## A Union of Souls, Chapter One

by [Michele Mason Bumbarger][1]

* * *

As the gate to the freight elevator snapped upwards and Angel stepped onto the main floor of the building, the sound of an earsplitting shriek pierced him through. It was enough to cause the demon inside of him to stir, hopeful for a taste of blood – or at least a taste of violence. It was enough to cause every muscle in his body to tense. Immediately and instinctively, the more than two centuries old vampire was on the defensive, charging anxiously towards the source of the shriek.

Finding the source of the keening wail made him skid to a halt, torn between a desire to break into relieved laughter or to fall into his natural demonic face for the simple shock value of it. 

Cordelia Chase bounced on the balls of her feet, a bright smile on her face. She held a slip of green paper by each of the corners and her smile seemed to grow even wider at the sight of Angel in the doorway. "It's a check!"

"Cordelia?" Angel prompted her for further explanation. He gave an annoyed groan as Doyle bumped solidly into him from behind, forcing him to brace himself in the doorway.

"What?" The former cheerleader and May Queen stared back with bright, laughing eyes. The smile did not wan or waver. "It's a real check from a real paying client. See, I told you that eventually if we helped the right person we would be suitably compensated. Ten thousand dollars compensated, by the way."

"Ten –" Angel couldn't manage to get the remainder of the words out. Ten thousand dollars was no small chunk of change, and usually the souls in need that he helped didn't have that kind of money to throw around.

Doyle made a more elaborate statement with a low whistle. The half-man/half-demon pushed past the vampire and made his way into the office. "Ten G's is a lot cash. Let me see that."

Cordelia snatched the check out of his reach. "Angel gets to see it first. He did all the work anyway."

"I had the vision. And the headache. Didn't I?" 

Angel might have laughed at Doyle's indignation and confusion if he hadn't still been trying to come to terms with the idea that Cordelia held a check for ten thousand dollars in her hands. These days, it wasn't always Doyle's visions that led Angel to souls in peril; sometimes it seemed as though Angel simply found them – or they were drawn to him like a magnet.

"Who could afford to pay us that much?" Angel finally managed to form words. He made no move towards his 'secretary' or the check in her hands, although his eyes did scan it intently. From this distance, it appeared to be a legitimate cashier's check, but Angel didn't know if he could have spotted a forgery anyway.

"Remember that housewife who was afflicted with a case of beating-cheating-I'm-gonna-take-away-the-kids-and-kill-you-husband? Well—"

"She was living in a trailer park Cordelia," Doyle interrupted, "She didn't even have enough money for diapers and formula."

"If you will let me finish." Cordelia rolled her eyes in Doyle's direction before returning her attention to the vampire. "It turns out that her father is very rich. Or was very rich. Anyway, he died. But she didn't know that because she had kind of runaway to marry the sleaze-from-hell. Once you got her back on her feet and got him off of her back, she called Mommy. The check is from Mommy, with all of her gratitude for helping bring her daughter and her grandchildren home. 

"The letter was very touching. I almost cried."

"See, this is exactly what I've been trying to tell you, Angel," Doyle sat down in the nearest seat and propped his feet up on the desk. "You never know who you may be helping or who's life you may touching."

Cordelia snorted, her voice heavy with sarcasm. "You're so very Hallmark. Make me gag, all ready." 

Stepping forward hesitantly, Angel reached tentatively for the check. It was still a little too much to believe. 

"Well, are you going to take it or just stare at it a while longer?" Doyle asked. "Because I think you need to get your hands on it so the little 'actress' over there can stop bouncing and then we can celebrate. On you, of course." 

"You would celebrate if it was a check for ten dollars," Cordelia accused. Then she turned to her boss, prompting, "Angel?"

"Hey, you gotta have your reasons for creating a little joy."

Angel took the check and simply stared at it. "It seems a little – surreal."

"No, it seems like we've earned it," Cordelia leaned back against the desk, raising her eyes inquiringly, "Does this mean we can finally talk raise?"

Angel was spared the task of having to answer her as his ears registered the sound of the front door opening. Instinctively, he sniffed the air, and blinked a bit in surprise. The scent was human, but it was also familiar. He turned slowly towards the door as the figure came into view, less surprised than Cordelia by the individual he saw standing there.

"Giles?" Cordelia's surprised question was tinged with a note of excitement. Angel had always thought she was more homesick for Sunnydale than she would ever admit. 

"Giles?" Angel gave the former Watcher and librarian a curt nod, his question different from Cordelia's. His eyes took in the rumpled tweed coat with a ripped sleeve, the slightly dishelved hair and the spot of blood on his shirt collar. The blood drew his attention the longest, the smell of it permeating the air, causing the demon to stir yet again. It was still fresh, although it was drying. It made Angel hungry and reminded him that he had not fed before coming up to the office this evening.

Rupert Giles nodded politely, although it did not escape Angel's finely tuned vampiric senses that the man's body still pulsed with adrenaline, that his heart beat quicker than normal and that his breathing was rapid. "Cordelia, Angel. I was hoping to find you here."

"You're in LA looking for Angel? What? Did the hellmouth open up again?" 

Angel ignored Cordelia's prattle. "Something happened. Vampire." At Giles' questioning gaze, Angel flicked his eyes towards the man's throat in response. "You were bit."

"You were bit by a vampire? Can't you just get knocked out like you usually do?"

Giles' hand rose to touch the bite mark, although he seemed less than concerned about it. "That's nothing really."

"You really are from Sunnydale if you think that getting bit by a vampire is nothing," Doyle remarked from where he sat, reminding Angel of his presence.

The librarian became aware of him at the same time, his attention shifting to take in the other occupant of the room. "You must be Doyle. Oz mentioned you."

"Did he mention me?" Cordelia chimed in.

Giles touched his throat again. "Of course, Cordelia. I had to see it with my own eyes to believe it, however."

Enough was enough. Angel motioned Giles towards a chair. "Sit down. You need medical attention. Doyle, get the first aid kit. Cordelia," Angel paused, handing the check that he still held with the reverence that a Christian would hold the Holy Grail, back to her, "Put that in the lock box."

"We don't have a lock—" She stopped in mid-sentence as her eyes met Angel's and shrugged in surrender. "Whatever."

"You know, Angel, I'm offended that you trust her more than you trust me with that check," Doyle said as he passed the vampire and headed off in search of the first aid kit. 

"Giles, what happened?" Angel took a seat across from the former Watcher, not daring to get too close to the man's personal space. Their relationship had remained forever awkward since he had been returned from hell – the reasons of which were still unknown to him. Things had not improved when the man learned that Angel had fed from Buffy Summers when he lay so near death. It didn't matter that Buffy had driven him to it, pulling forth the demon that was so intimately a part of Angel. Feeding from Giles' Slayer was nearly as unforgivable as the murder of Jenny Calendar. 

Yet, they could put their differences aside when decorum – or saving the world – required it and this was apparently one of those times. Why else would Giles be here, with a fresh wound on his neck, seeking the aid of Angel?

"I came to LA to visit an old friend from my Oxford days," Giles sank wearily into the nearest chair, slowly – and painfully – pulling off his jacket. He pulled the glasses from his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose thoughtfully before continuing. "Amanda Skerrit, she's an archeologist, and also a student of the occult. Or at least she was."

"She's dead?"

"She is now," Giles closed his eyes for a moment and Angel watched a ripple of pain play across his face. Two hundred and forty odd years and several years of knowing Giles gave Angel all the information he needed. The bite on his throat came from his former friend; no doubt the dust on the shirt and jacket also came from her as well.

"What happened to her?" Cordelia had returned from her assigned task and sat down next to Giles. She frowned at him, "You know, that blood stain is never going to come out. Why do vampires have to be so messy when they bite anyway?" Her hazel eyes darted to Angel, "Well? Can't you be neat about it?"

"Cordelia, I hardly think that when a vampire bites they are much concerned with table etiquette. The victim is not supposed to survive the –" Giles stopped abruptly, blinking and shaking his head in slight exasperation. He dismissed her with a polite, "Never mind, it isn't important.

"Amanda had acquired the Book of Isiri," Giles directed his words towards the vampire. Something in Angel clicked and made a connection. He knew of the Book of Isiri; just as he had known of the Codex and the Gem of Amarra. Some things were just common knowledge to creatures of the supernatural and darkness. The powerful magicks locked up within that spellbook were not something that should fall into the wrong hands.

"That Book has been lost for – well for longer than I've been around," Angel noted.

"That's a pretty long time," Cordelia commented. "What are you? At least three hundred now?"

"Amanda found it. At least that what she told me when we talked," Giles easily ignored Cordelia. Angel imagined that it was simple enough to fall back into the old patterns of Sunnydale. "I was supposed to come down sooner to aid her in studying it and translating, however events on the hellmouth prevented my traveling until now.

"Fortunately, I feel that I couldn't have chosen a better weekend to do it. I am saved from listening to Buffy and Willow prattle on inanely about Homecoming." 

"Homecoming? Buffy and Willow are going to Homecoming?" Cordelia asked with rapt interest. "What are they wearing? I mean, even I have to admit that Willow did pull off a very nice prom ensemble. And Buffy and I looked great at Homecoming senior year and –"

Angel interrupted Cordelia's babble before Giles died of old age and he died of boredom. "Cordelia, I'm sure that Giles is probably thirsty. Why don't you get him something to drink. And find Doyle."

"I'm here. Love how you keep this thing hidden in the bathroom," Doyle complained. The man dropped the first aid kit to the desk and opened it up. 

"The bathroom is where it belongs," Cordelia pointed out.

"Oh, I should have known this was your handiwork."

Giles looked from one to the other, then cast a genuinely sympathetic glance at the vampire. "Are they always like this?"

"No, usually they're worse," Angel answered with a straight face and without missing a beat.

Blinking in surprise, the librarian stared at Angel for half a heartbeat. "A sense of humor. That's unexpected."

"He does that every now and then," Cordelia supplied. "It's LA. It's good for him. He doesn't spend nearly as much time going the whole broody and mopey and I'm-the-horrible-vampire-oh-stake-me-now-routine."

"I'd very much like that glass of water now, Cordelia."

"What, are you kidding? And let Doyle butcher you?" The brunette was on her feet in flash, pushing the half-man away from the first aid kit. "My friend would like a glass of water. I'll take care of this."

"Get the first aid kit, Doyle. My friend would like a glass of water, Doyle. Don't touch the check, Doyle," Doyle's mutterings followed him out of the office.

"You were saying?" Angel prompted the other man. "The Book of Isiri?"

"Oh yes," Giles shifted, obligingly tilting his head as Cordelia knelt beside his chair and began to wipe away the blood. Angel was grateful for the antiseptic smell that filtered from that direction, glad that the blood wouldn't be a source of distraction. "Amanda had it and I came to see it and hopefully take it back to Sunnydale. When I arrived at Amanda's I initially thought that place had been broken into. I found her in the kitchen and apparently, she hadn't fed recently."

"Ew," Cordelia complained, raising her eyes briefly from her task. "Your friend got vamped and bit you? How gross. And how incredibly rude."

Giles only gave the young woman a moment's consideration before continuing. "I had not choice but to destroy her. Anyway, I searched for the Book but didn't find it anywhere."

"Way to go, Giles. Stake a vamp and go through her underwear drawer."

"I did not—" Giles began a loud objection, then slumped his shoulders in silent defeat. In the familiar gesture of annoyance, he rubbed frantically at the bridge of his nose, much to Cordelia's dismay as she yelled at him to stay still. He stared plaintively at Angel. "I was hoping that perhaps you could help me find the Book of Isiri."

"The Book of Isiri?" Doyle reappeared, thrusting the glass of water towards the older man. "Here in LA? How'd that happen?"

"Giles had a friend. Who had the book. Who got vamped. Who tried to eat him –"

Angel interrupted. "Are you certain it wasn't at her apartment?"

"Well, I'll admit I didn't do a thorough search of the premises. I was afraid that our scuffle might have attracted some attention and I really didn't wish to have to explain myself to the LAPD. I thought that perhaps knowing the power structure here in LA, you might know who would have wanted to do this to Amanda – or would want the Book of Isiri."

"I'll bet you a drink that it didn't have anything to do with your friend Amanda and everything to do with the Book of Isiri," Doyle hopped up onto the desk.

Angel cut his eyes towards his 'partner.' "You're thinking Cordovan."

"Aren't you?" Doyle challenged. "He sent Derrick for the book, and Derrick left his mark."

At the sound of the other vampire's name, Angel gave a low growl. The demon stirred, striking once, then twice against the bars of its cage. Derrick had been a thorn in Angel's side since their first encounter. He was sly and devious, and it was no secret that he was Cordovan's right-hand man. It galled Angel that he had never been able to get close enough to the vampire to kill him; it also galled him that he had never been able to get close to Cordovan.

"Who is Cordovan? A master vampire?" 

"No," Cordelia paused in bandaging Giles' throat. "He's a psychotic sociopath half-demon. Like Doyle. Minus the psychotic sociopath part."

Giles stared at Doyle, a flicker of fear and curiosity lighting his light eyes. "You're a demon?"

Doyle leveled a glare at the top of Cordelia's head. "No, I'm fully human on my mother's side of the family."

"Cordovan runs the show here in LA," Angel explained, feeling a temporary pang of sympathy and pity for Doyle. Giles would either avoid him like the plague now – or worry him incessantly with questions. Either way, his partner was in for quite a time of it. "He runs a gigantic corporation and hides behind his lawyers. They will do anything and everything it takes to keep his hands clean while he kills and destroys at his leisure."

"Lawyers? They work for him?"

"Wolfram and Hart, my friend," Doyle said helpfully. "All their clients are guilty of some crime or another, but you'd never be able to prove it. Gives a new meaning to the idea that lawyers are sharks."

"This is beginning to sound far more complicated than a routine seek and find in Sunnydale," Giles muttered.

"Welcome to the big city," Angel actually felt the corners of his mouth jerk into a wan smile. "We'll start looking for that book. We should probably make certain that it isn't at Amanda's apartment before I try to track it down to Cordovan."

"A little breaking and entering? You seem to have expanded your skills, Angel."

"Oh it's cool," Cordelia finished her work and stood. "Angel has an in with the police department. One of the undercovers has the hots for him."

This time it was Angel who leveled a glare in Cordelia's direction. 

Before Giles could ask questions or Angel could clarify Cordelia's offhand statement, Doyle gave a pained shout and tumbled forward off the desk. The man clutched his head in with one hand, crying in agony, the other hand clutching the desk.

Giles was on his feet, a look of complete wariness on his face. "What's wrong with him?"

Angel was already kneeling beside his friend, offering support as Doyle struggled to cope with another of the visions. "He's having a vision."

"A vision?"

Cordelia nodded, this time there was no malice or sarcasm in her voice. Instead, she sounded subdued and a bit worried. "He gets these visions. Of people in trouble and then he and Angel – and I – go off and save them."

"Visions from?"

"The powers that be, whoever they are."

"The downside is, I also get splitting headaches to go along with them." Doyle drew a ragged breath, gripping Angel's arm tightly as he allowed the vampire to haul him to his feet. He staggered to the nearest chair and slumped into it, closing his eyes with a groan. He looked terrible – pale and haggard – but he never looked good after one of his visions left its mark on him. 

"Fascinating," Giles murmured, studying the half-man/half-demon with an academic's eyes.

"You think so? You try havin' one or two of them," Doyle grumbled.

"What did you see, Doyle?" Angel knelt besides Doyle's chair.

"Yeah, anything about this weird book?"

Doyle shook his head, and then winced. He took another breath, opening his eyes slowly to focus on Angel. "It's a place, near south quad on UCLA's campus. Indigo Club. There's a girl there."

"What does she look like?"

"You're going to need more than a description, Indigo Club tends to be a hot spot on Thursday nights. I'll pick her out when we get there."

"I hate to interrupt but," Giles looked from Angel to Doyle and back again, "The Book of Isiri?" 

Angel and Doyle exchanged a glance and Angel swallowed nervously. He rose to his feet, smoothing his hands on his black jeans. "We can do both. But I have to check this out Giles. This girl – whoever she is –"

"Her soul is in peril," Cordelia cut in. "Angel has to save her. That's what Doyle was sent to help him do. Hey, I know!"

Three sets of eyes actually looked at her, each in various states of questioning.

"I can go with Giles and search his friend's apartment while you guys go check out this club and this girl."

"I'm not sure that is such a good idea, Cordy," Angel stated. He noticed Giles' eyebrows raise at the use of Cordelia's nickname, but he ignored it. This wasn't Sunnydale anymore and there wasn't really a lot of time for argument or explanation.

"Hey, I shoot a mean crossbow, you know. And I'm with Giles. Watcher guy. Research guy. Ripper guy."

Giles groaned, "Please don't call me that."

"Indigo Club?" Doyle prompted, pulling himself to sluggishly to his feet.

Angel leveled a dark and warning glare at Cordelia. "Be careful. And don't do anything stupid. We'll meet back here later."

With an apologetic nod at Giles, he left the office with Doyle following on his heels. Cordelia and Gile's conversation followed him.

"You appear to work rather well with Angel."

"He needs me."

The door closed behind him.

* * *

   [1]: mailto:shadows@alternate-realities.net



	3. Chapter Two

* * *

## A Union of Souls, Chapter Two

by [Michele Mason Bumbarger][1]

* * *

Ami wondered what she was doing here. Here being Club Indigo, the hotspot for south quad of campus. Here being the small table against the wall she had settled herself at while watching her roommate bounce around the dance floor, always flocked by at least two hopeful admirers. No, on second thought, she knew precisely what she was doing here – she was here because her roommate, Celia, just had to make certain that Ami finally met up with "the totally hot and awesome guy from your class. And he's a Delt." Well, the totally hot and awesome Delt, Pete, had one beer too many and had been escorted back to the frat house by two of his brothers. 

Which really was a shame because Ami had actually been looking forward to tonight. For three weeks she had been watching him across Doleman Auditorium, and the chance to finally meet him was not an opportunity that she was going to pass up. Pete had been personable and fun, too -- at least while he had been sober and before he had started trying to drink his friends under the table. Before he had decided that dancing meant trying to meld his body into Ami's and his vocabulary deteriorated to monosyllabic grunts.

All that excitement and it wasn't even one a.m. yet.

The worst part was that he had her phone number.

Still, the night hadn't been a total wash. She had a good time – until she got tired and found the first empty table that wasn't covered in spilled beer. She was trying really hard not to check her watch and not to think about the eight o' clock class that she would have to drag herself to in the morning – and wondering who in their insanity decided that college weekends started on Thursday night?

Stifling a yawn, Ami leaned forward on her arms, watching Celia dance. 

"Just one more song," Celia had pleaded when Ami reminded her that some people had to get up early in the morning. That had been three songs ago. At least Ami thought it was three songs; as the lateness of the night kicked in and her thoughts scattered to the winds, she was having trouble keeping count.

In spite of Celia's overabundance of energy, Ami realized that she wouldn't have traded one moment of her life here. No one had understood her need to get away from London, to spread her wings and have a little independence. Her mother was still convinced that once the semester was over, Ami would be so homesick that she would catch the first red-eye back to London, ready to pick up and settle down, "As soon as your head is out of the clouds." 

Her mother was about to be vastly disappointed. Even sitting in the corner of the club, and realizing that her prince of a date had turned into the proverbial frog, Ami was content. More content than she had been in quite a long while. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy being a Tomorrow Person; she did. She enjoyed the friends she had gained, and she wouldn't have traded her special abilities for anything in the world. Although she seldom used her telepathic or teleportative abilities, reserving them for times of dire need or when she would be safely unobserved, they were a blessing of a sort. But they were also a two edged sword – the other edge was a great responsibility, the responsibility carried by all the Tomorrow People as the first in what they hoped would be a long line of evolved humans. Yet, despite all that she had, for the longest time, she had felt like something was missing, that a part of her was empty or not quite whole. The feeling of total completeness hadn't been found yet. However, everyday she spent in Los Angeles, every hour she spent living in accord to her own rules, every moment of freedom, and every experience she gained led her to believe that she was on the path to that ultimate sense of satisfaction and completeness. Eventually she would, what was the figurative way of saying it, find herself.

For the first time in her life, she was doing something for herself, and there were no words to describe how that felt.

There were words to describe how she felt watching Celia, however. Or rather, one specific word: tired.

"Is this seat taken?" The sound of a soft, yet masculine voice interrupted her thoughts. 

"No, go ahead. It's yours." Ami didn't even spare the owner of the voice a glance. There were a limited number of seats in Club Indigo tonight, probably because of the new band, Babylon River, that had been drawing increasing numbers of fans. While the five-man band wasn't particularly stunning, they weren't terribly bad either. And they steered clear of the techno-punk which seemed to be the all the growing rage of late; that music was the sort that made Ami want to run screaming whenever she heard it. To be an unknown band, Babylon River drew quite the crowd – her table was one of the few that still had an empty seat, but she doubted she would need the extra chair. Celia would not be returning to the table any time soon. Ami was going to have to drag her off the dance floor and back to the dorm.

"Then you don't mind if I sit here?" The hesitancy of the voice caused Ami to turn her head – and catch her breath. She was staring into the deepest set of dark brown eyes she had ever seen in her life. Those eyes were hypnotizing, inquisitive and concerned, watching her with an intensity that made her breath catch. Those dark orbs drew her in, and made her body flush warm with desires that she could barely identify.

And it wasn't just the eyes. As she looked up, she drank in the sight of one of the most beautiful men she had seen all night. In fact, the man standing by her table made Celia's Pete look like last week's leftovers. He was striking, dressed in a dark black shirt and black slacks, a long black coat flowing behind him. Thick, dark hair nearly the same shade as those eyes of his were a startling contrast against his pale skin. Handsome, intriguing and – waiting for her to answer him.

"No, not at all," the words came out breathlessly, her voice nearly squeaking.

"You're not from here," he observed as he sank to the seat across from her with an almost unnatural grace. Ami noticed that he clutched a drink glass in his hands. His dark eyes flickered to the glass then to her again. He seemed almost embarrassed. "I was noticing your accent. You're from England, right?"

"Right," Ami gave him a surprised and flattered smile. 

Maybe tonight really hadn't been a total wash.

"What are you doing here in LA?" He shifted again, his eyes widening as though he was hearing his own words for the first time. He took a deep breath, which for some reason struck her as exaggerated, and gave a slight shake of his dark head. His smile was both apologetic and chagrined. "Oh boy. I'm being too personal. I'm sorry, I'm not really good at this kind of thing." 

"That's okay, I don't mind you asking." Ami commented. "I'm going to UCLA."

"Why? That's awfully far from home." His genuine interest took her by surprise. Either he was honestly interested in her and her life story, or he was well practiced in the art of flirting with naïve college women. Ami resisted the urge to probe his mind to find out which. For one, it was incredibly rude; the other reason was that she was actually enjoying the illusion that someone like this could be interested in her.

Ami shrugged with more nonchalance than she was feeling. "I wanted to get as far away from my Mum as possible."

"And . . . are you happy?"

"Pardon me?" Ami stared at him. That certainly had to be one of the strangest ice-breakers that she had ever heard.

"Well, it's just that a lot of people run away from things when they aren't happy . . . and they try to be happy somewhere else." He paused, glancing down at the tabletop and then back at her, "So, I was just wondering if you're happy here. Now. Away from home."

"I'm fine," Ami answered cautiously, more than a little bit confused by this conversation – and the strange – albeit handsome – man who's name she didn't know.

"Because I can help you with that. If you're not happy."

Ami snapped her falling jaw shut. Now that had to be the absolute worse come-on she had ever heard – and during her first week on campus, she had been pretty sure that she heard most of them. At the same time the mysterious and handsome stranger seemed to realize exactly what he said and took another breath, sitting up straighter in his chair.

"I didn't mean –" He paused and shook his head. Reaching into his coat pocket he produced a business card which he held out to her. "This is my card. I help people who – need help."

"You think that I need help?" Ami took the card hesitantly. She slowly raked her eyes over the stylized drawing of – maybe an angel – and read the caption aloud, "Angel Investigations. You're a private investigator?"

"Private securities," he nodded, long fingers nervously shredding a napkin. Suddenly he extended his hand, "By the way, I'm Angel." As her eyes darted towards the drawing on the card, she heard him add, "I didn't draw the picture."

"Ami." She took the offered hand and the moment his skin touched hers, a chill climbed from her toes to the roots of her hair. For most people, tactile contact was simply contact, but for a someone like her, a telepath, it was a great deal more. Everything that an individual was, everything that they felt came through in simple tactile exchanges. Normally, Ami was able to blot out the random and chaotic images received tactily in the same way she filtered the constant buzz and hum that lurked on the fringes of her awareness. Normally, it was background noise, quickly forgotten and never registered.

This was not the case with Angel. Something dark, potent, and intense reared to life as she touched his hand. It lashed out hungrily, thirsting for blood and the essence of life. On some level that she could not even comprehend she knew that it thirsted for her blood and her life, not specifically but in the same way that it wanted the same from every individual in the club. It was complete darkness and pure destruction cloaked in a mask of intense passion that was as intoxicating as a drug.

It was, she recognized, his uncloaked psychic aura. Something no one else in the room probably could have sensed or noticed, but that drew her in and repelled her. His aura was like his eyes – compelling and enticing. It invited Ami; it seemed sing a siren song to some part of her soul – and her soul moved to answer. Being aware of him on this level was like eating a fine meal – she didn't want to stop. It was intoxicating and alluring; it was –

Positively insane. Ami pulled herself up short, reacting without thought as she jerked her hand from his. What was that she was feeling from him? It wasn't normal – she would venture to say that it wasn't even human. And as she struggled to realign her senses, she realized that the brief contact had left her disoriented and slightly confused.

"Ami? Are you okay?"

She forced herself to take a deep, comforting breath. The room was slowly coming back into focus. Angel stared at her, his face a mask of complete confusion. That couldn't have been his mind could it? No one and nothing alive felt like that.

Ever.

"Fine," Ami supplied quickly. She nearly knocked her chair over in an effort to stand. She had to get away from him. She had to get out of here and clear her head. "I'm just – it's really hot in here. I need some fresh air."

"I can walk with you if –" 

"No!" Ami winced at the loudness and rudeness of her protest. She forced herself to speak a bit more softly. "No, I wouldn't want to put you through any trouble. It was nice meeting you, Angel."

"If you need anything call me," Angel stood, shoving his hands into the endless depths of his pockets.

"Right." 

Ami couldn't escape the club quickly enough. The entire time she couldn't shake the feeling that Angel was watching her, those dark fathomless eyes boring holes into her back. 

Taking a quick glance back over her shoulder, she shivered.

Angel – whoever and whatever he was – was gone.

* * *

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   [1]: mailto:shadows@alternate-realities.net
   [2]: sl-auos1.html
   [3]: sl-auos3.html



	4. Chapter Three

* * *

## A Union of Souls, Chapter Three

by [Michele Mason Bumbarger][1]

* * *

"I didn't know we had taken up stalking as part of our services." Doyle's Irish brogue drifted to Angel's ears as the half-demon stepped up beside him. They were standing in an alley outside of Club Indigo, blending into the meandering college students. Ami Jackson was talking – seemingly somewhat distractedly – with a cute and overly bubbly blonde and a flock of admirers. Mostly of the cute and bubbly blonde it seemed. Not that Ami wasn't an attractive girl in her own right, but she appeared about as interested in flirting as most people were in having a root canal.

"I think I scared her." Angel remarked thoughtfully. He narrowed his focus, trying to ignore the humans surrounding Ami and focus just on the young woman. There was a familiar sense about her, something that he had sensed once or twice before but hadn't sensed since . . . 

Since Drusilla.

"Well, you certainly aren't going to win any awards for being smooth." The new voice caused both Angel and his companion to turn and stare.

"Whistler." Angel's greeting lacked anything even remotely resembling warmth. The last time he had heard that the demon was around had been during his reversion to Angelus. The demon appeared in Sunnydale in time to give Buffy the insight she needed to be able to send Angelus – or rather the newly ensouled Angel – directly to hell. For someone who considered himself to be a messenger of 'The Powers That Be' his timing had been pretty lousy.

"Whistler." Doyle's even less than enthusiastic and more than disdainful greeting pulled Angel from his thoughts.

Angel blinked at Doyle. "You know him?"

"Unfortunately," Doyle muttered. "We travel in the same circles."

Angel looked from the half-demon to the full one and back again. "Use the same tailor too?"

"Hey," Doyle waved a finger at the vampire, "I dress better than him any day of the week. I, at least, avoid bad hats. Besides not everyone can pull off that mysterious-stranger-flowing-black-coat thing that you do so well."

"What's wrong with my hat?" Whistler protested, pulling the aforementioned garment from his head to examine it. "I like it. It's my favorite hat. It's my lucky hat."

"And the rest of us are lucky that the fashion industry had the good sense to only make one like it."

With a frustrated shake of his head, Angel interrupted what could probably turn into a lengthy dialogue of insults and the like. "Whistler, what are you doing here?"

"They sent me."

"They?"

"The same ones that sent him." The demon placed his hat on his head and indicated Doyle. "I guess they thought you two might need some backup with the pretty little Brit. This one's major."

The vampire stared at Whistler, wondering why 'The Powers That Be' felt the need to guide his path in the form of demons and half-demons who dressed badly or received cryptic visions. For not the first time since moving to LA, he considered the fact that maybe dealing with Doyle – and certainly now dealing with Whistler – was a part of his penance. "She didn't seem to be in any trouble."

"They never are right away, now are they? I mean, if they were so deep in trouble by the time Doyle had one of his little visions then what would be the use of the vision?" Whistler straightened his hat, "She's in trouble, my oblivious undead friend. She just doesn't know it yet."

"Well, why don't you save us some leg work and tell us what the big trouble is?" Doyle suggested. "Then Angel can go destroy it and we can all go on with our lives. And you can leave LA."

"What makes you think that I know what sort of danger she's in?" 

"You're here," Angel said simply.

"I'm here because they sent me. They think you might need a little extra help, but they don't tell me everything. If they did we might have avoided that whole nasty happiness business with your pretty Slayer. By the way, how is she?"

The mention of Buffy was a splinter meant to get under Angel's skin. Even knowing that, it still worked. And knowing that it worked made Angel restrain the urge to throttle the demon on the spot. "I don't know."

"Ah, that's right. Love 'em and leave 'em. Always been my philosophy anyway." Whistler checked his watch. "I'm hungry. There's a really great all night deli about two blocks up. You already ate, right?"

"Yeah, but I'm feeling hungry again."

"I knew you when you were feeding on rats, so I'm not worried about my throat."

"Whistler. Why are you here? To bore us to death?" Angel heard the annoyance in Doyle's voice. He was beginning to feel more than a little annoyed himself.

"To help you help her. She's important. Special. Just like the Slayer." Whistler looked from one to the other. "What do you know about Cordovan?"

"That he's virtually untouchable," Angel felt the demon stir at the sound of the half-demon's name. "And that one day I'm going to kill him one day."

"You think she's in danger from Cordovan?"

"If it's not improbable, then it's definitely possible. Cordovan and his little witch just might have some interest in her."

"Witch?" Angel raised his eyebrows in interest.

"You really haven't been doing your homework, have you? You think someone like him works alone? You think he just has piranha lawyers and a vamp army? I'll bet my lucky hat that it's related to our girl over there, I just don't know why yet. But I guess we'll all find out together." Whistler turned on his heel and started down the street in the other direction, calling over his shoulder, "Now, stop talking and start walking. I really need some food."

"You were feeding on rats?" Doyle's mouth curled in distaste. "Come on, Angel, even house pets would have been better than that. A stray kitten every now and then?"

With a low growl, Angel stalked off after Whistler. "Shut-up, Doyle."

* * *

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   [1]: mailto:shadows@alternate-realities.net
   [2]: sl-auos2.html
   [3]: sl-auos4.html



	5. Chapter Four

* * *

## A Union of Souls, Chapter Four

by [Michele Mason Bumbarger][1]

* * *

_She moved like a wraith between the flickering shadows and candles which lit the underground cavern. Her feet floated lightly over the arcane symbols painted on the floor and her hands glowed faintly as she gathered the magick around her. Everything was coming together. Tonight would be their finest hour._

Approaching the stone altar, she felt the corners of her mouth turn into a hungry smile. Her body pulsed and tingled with the magick, but she knew that it was not time yet. The moon had not reached its full apex . . . but it would soon. And then the moment would come. Cat like eyes traveled over the altar, taking in the details of the figure lying there. Not dead, dead would not do for this ceremony. The chosen one had to be alive – the chosen one had to be willing – or at least offer no resistance.

Long fingers with nails painted lacquer black, smoothed a hand affectionately over the dark hair of the chosen one. From the hair, her fingertips traveled to trace the arcane symbols painted on the face and exposed skin of the young girl. Already the spell and the magick began to take hold of their chosen sacrifice. The symbols flickered and glowed dimly with a pale, sickly red light. Soon that light would be bright and blinding; soon it would be hot enough to rival fire.

Soon. Soon was not soon enough.

Abruptly, the chosen one's eyes opened. Dark, empty pools that seemed to stare nowhere and focus on nothing. 

And then the chosen one began to scream.

* * *

"You're worried too."

Cordovan lifted his head from the file folder in his lap, his eyes locking with the intense emerald gaze that met his own in the vanity mirror. Blue highlights reflected in his lover's hair as the woman pulled a brush through the raven tresses. "Worried, Giselle?"

Her full lips formed a slight pout as her hands continued to brush her hair. "You don't think the book was worth the trouble."

"I have never doubted you, witch." He said the last with an affectionate growl and her pout turned to the barest hint of a smile. "If you say that you need the book, then you need the book. However, I am as curious as Derrick. And you know that I'm not quite as endeared with your mystery as my undead friend is."

Turning on the vanity seat, Giselle placed the brush aside. "I don't need the book. You do." As she spoke, she rose from the vanity and moved across the bedroom with the grace of a dancer. The silk gown moved with her, hugging and clinging to her lithe and graceful form and Cordovan's eyes traveled the length of her body hungrily. Very few women had the magick and power that Giselle did and for not the first time, he was glad that he found her in New Orleans all those years ago. She had merely been a defiant child then, practicing black magick that she didn't truly understand. He had known; he had understood . . . and he had taught her or introduced her to those who could. Now . . . now she was his Dark Witch, and her soul belonged to the darker powers as much as his own did.

"But I'm no witch, am I?"

"For centuries the wisest and the strongest have used The Enslavement to create eternally loyal followers. Have you ever heard the stories of the zombies raised by voodoo priests and priestesses?" Giselle spoke slowly, her voice a sultry whisper as she crawled across the bed, moving towards him like a cat on prowl.

"Magick."

"Weak magick. A fool's magick. Mostly the power of suggestion and belief in powers that we can't see and control. Idiots who stumble around blindly because this is what their religion told them would happen to them." She stopped by his legs, her nails drawing a slow line from his kneecaps to his thighs. "The Enslavement is real, Kristoph. It's magick allows you to capture and control the soul – any soul, no matter how weak or how strong whether they believe in such things or not. But not just one soul, darling. As many as you could possibly want. Living, breathing slaves who bow to your every whim; and when you're done with them, you can feed on those very souls that you possess."

Kristoph was intrigued. He had heard rumors of such a spell, but he had not known that it was hidden within the pages of the spellbook that Giselle had so plainly wanted. He truly hadn't cared what was inside that book, only that she wanted it. The fact that she wanted it after waking from one of her trance-dreams – dreams which had saved his life and given him the power and position that he now held – only gave him more reason for sending Derrick after it.

Having this knowledge changed everything. He traced her cheek with his fingertips. "And why would you share this with me? Why not keep this for yourself."

"I share everything with you. I live to serve you. I just do it better than most of those you keep around here." Giselle's fingers wound a crooked path up his abdomen and chest. "Do you want to hear the rest, or have you turned into a man of small desires?"

"There's more?"

"There's always more." Dropping her hands, Giselle sat back on her ankles, turning from playful to serious. "Once every dawning millennium The Enslavement becomes more than a simple spell. It comes to mean more than merely enslaving the soul of another. Under the right conditions, it can provide one with ultimate power. There are those walking this world who have psychic powers that you can not even imagine . . . and when you trap and enslave one of those, their power is at your disposal. Properly maintained and you will have an eternal fountain of power and energy. The spell and the timing of it make it so.

"I've seen it, Kristoph. I've seen her in my mind's eye. I've dreamt of her."

"Her?"

"The source of your ultimate power. I've seen it all."

"Are you certain of this, Giselle?"

"Have I ever been wrong before?"

* * *

[Previous Part][2] | [Next Part][3]

   [1]: mailto:shadows@alternate-realities.net
   [2]: sl-auos3.html
   [3]: sl-auos5.html



	6. Chapter Five

* * *

## A Union of Souls, Chapter Five

by [Michele Mason Bumbarger][1]

* * *

It was impossible for Ami to shake the feeling that she was being watched. Even after returning to her dorm last night, she couldn't stop her skin from crawling. She shut out all the lights and stared out of the dorm room window for the longest amount of time, but saw nothing other than the usual nightly movements. Still, the disturbing effects of Angel's psychic aura stayed with her, making it difficult to relax or sleep, and plaguing her with barely remembered dreams upon waking.

Last night had been the first night she slept with her curtains pulled. An attack of paranoia, maybe, but certainly a needed defense that she hadn't been able to explain even after Celia gave her several curious stares. Luckily, her roommate hadn't pushed the issue, and she hadn't questioned the reason that her own curtains were also drawn upon waking this morning. With the curtains drawn she felt less on display, less able to be spied upon although the feeling of unease never vanished completely.

Even now, walking across campus in broad daylight, Ami couldn't help but glancing over her shoulder every few steps. Her shields were slightly lowered, and her senses were awash with the buzz and hum of the minds around her. Nothing felt strange or out of sorts; just the usual test anxiety or good-natured enthusiasm which heralded the forthcoming weekend. It was just a normal Friday afternoon and Ami was surrounded by normal people.

So why did the invisible fingers of fear and unease continue to stroke her spine?

"And now that I've exhausted myself talking to you, I think I'll dash over and find out what the nearest brick wall is doing tonight."

Celia's sarcasm pulled Ami from her thoughts and she shook her head to clear it. It required tightening her mental shields a bit, forcing all the background noise back to where it belonged – in the background.

"I'm sorry, Cee-Cee," Ami smiled sheepishly, "I'm just a little distracted today."

"So I noticed. It wouldn't have anything to do with that hottie that you were talking to last night?"

"Hottie?" Ami stared blankly at her roommate then realized that the girl meant the mysterious Angel. "Oh, Angel."

"Oh, Angel?" Celia rolled her eyes. "How can you be so blasé? He was a demi-god. He was even cuter than your Australian friend, and all you can say is 'Oh, Angel?' "

"We just talked. It wasn't –" Ami stopped and considered her words. There was no way she could explain to Celia the 'vibe' that she received from Angel. Just as she hadn't been able to explain her sudden paranoia and need for darkness last night. "I really don't think that he was trying to ask me out. I think he was just . . . weird."

"Sounds to me like he was just a little gun shy. Which is so cool when he was so hot." Celia made a display of frantically fanning herself, causing Ami to smile in spite of herself. "Are you going to call him?"

"No!" Ami answered loudly and quickly, receiving a few stares from people passing them on the quad. She lowered her voice, "No, I am not going to call some really weird guy that I don't know anything about. That's just asking for trouble."

"Ami, I really don't mean to be rude but you really are sounding like a stick in the mud. Not every guy on campus is a date rapist despite whatever you Brits think about us Yanks. And not every guy is going to turn into a drunken slob with a bad case of groping paws either. You've got a whole year here and you can't keep going paranoia girl on me every time a guy turns creepy."

"And why not?" Ami demanded.

"Because," Celia gripped her playfully by the upper arms and gave her a gentle shake, "I swear that I will be forced to kill you if you do." Releasing her, Celia dropped to the nearby bench, sliding her purse-pack from her shoulders and dropping it at her feet. "I just don't get you sometimes, Jackson. I mean, I could totally see it if you were this fat, ugly geek who had absolutely nothing going for them except a brain like Einstein – well, then you would be allowed to personally off yourself or I would have requested a new roommate on grounds of mental cruelty.

"But you're not. You're smart and you're pretty. And you've got that total accent thing going on that guys just love, but every time there's a guy around who's even remotely interested in you, you go from bouncy-girl to turtle girl."

Ami shifted impatiently from foot to foot. She had heard this speech from Celia before, and she liked it less and less each time she heard it. Again, she realized that Celia honestly thought that she was helping Ami, lecturing the Tomorrow Person for her own good, but there were just things that Celia could never understand. There were things that normal people could never understand. Getting close to people was a touch and go situation, but there was no way to put that into words that Celia would comprehend. "I do not," Ami protested stubbornly.

"Then what do you call last night?"

"Trying to keep my clothes on?"

"Pete's a really nice guy. And he likes you."

"Well, he can like me just as well when he's sober."

"Fine." Celia dismissed the argument with a wave of a perfectly manicured hand. "Hey, I know." Grabbing Ami's sleeve, she tugged the Tomorrow Person onto the bench beside her, her blue eyes glittering and nearly matching the color of the overhead sky. "Come to the Tau Kappa party with me tonight. It is going to be a total blast. Maybe you'll meet someone even hotter than this Angel guy that you think is so weird."

"Another frat party?" Ami didn't try to hide the disdain in her voice.

"Oh, don't be like that, Jackson." Slumping back against the bench, Celia pouted. It was a pout that probably got her whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted it. A patented pout that was meant to wrap men around her finger and a few women too. Even Ami had discovered she wasn't one hundred percent immune to Celia's pouting.

Ami sighed heavily. If she didn't go to this party with Celia, she wouldn't put it past her roommate to throw her in a burlap sack and drag her there. Besides, it wasn't like she had anything else planned – and watching other people make idiots of themselves could be fun. As long as they kept their hands to themselves. That was where Pete, the "totally awesome and hot" Delt messed up. "Okay, fine. And this is your last chance to show me how much of a good time I should be having."

"Yes, I love you, roomie!" Celia gave a delighted squeal and threw her arms around the other girl. Ami had just enough warning to tighten her mental shields a bit more before she risked being drowned by Celia's enthusiasm. "I promise you it will be a total blast! You're gonna love it."

"Last chance, Celia. If I have a miserable time, I'm not doing it again."

"Yes, ma'am. I promise you will have so much fun, you will be begging me to take you to the next one." Celia grabbed Ami's wrist and checked Ami's watch. In a flash she was on her feet. "I'm gonna be late to class! See ya!"

Ami watched the blonde hurricane dash off across campus, ponytail bobbing behind her and heads turning in her wake. She was pretty certain that she just let herself in for something she would regret – just like going to Club Indigo last night. That's where she met Angel.

Thinking of the mysterious stranger, Ami slid her hand into her jumper pocket and touched the business card. She still didn't know what had possessed her to fish the thing out of the trash can this morning and shove it into her pocket as she left for class. If anything, she should throw it away and be done with it – and Angel.

But her curiosity was her downfall. Despite being put off by Angel, she was curious about him. Curious enough that she just might work up the courage to at least go have a look at 'Angel Investigations.' She didn't have to go inside. She didn't even have to talk to him. Or see him. 

Slipping the card from her pocket, Ami looked at it. The drawing was the most interesting thing about it – although Angel had given her the feeling that he didn't like the drawing. He had made a point of mentioning that he wasn't responsible for it. The rest of the card was plain – plain black letters that read 'Angel Investigations' followed by an address and a phone number. 

'A lot of people run away from things when they aren't happy . . . and they try to be happy somewhere else. I help people who need help.' His words repeated themselves in her head.

He had seen into her soul. As irrational as it was, she couldn't shake the feeling that he had actually read her mind and seen into her soul.

Just as she couldn't shake the sudden climbing chill that crept its way up her spine. She looked upward, blinking into the bright sun, and still she shivered slightly. A million tiny fingers pressed into the base of her skull, a million tiny voices whispered beyond the fringes of her shields. She felt eyes on her back, she felt eyes peeling away the layers of her mind and body.

She felt exposed.

Heart pounding, Ami leaped to her feet, clutching her book bag tightly. Her eyes darted aroudn the quad, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. Yet, the feeling did not fade, but rather it grew stronger. It mocked her, it taunted her from the shadows.

Ami shivered again, tightening her shields against the delicate but deliberate probe that she could feel. Him. It had to be him.

But it wasn't.

The figure stood so far across the quad that Ami almost had not spotted her. So far across the quad that Ami didn't know how she identified the figure as a female and not a male. She didn't know how she knew that it was a set of piercing green eyes that met hers and tried to force their way into her mind and heart and soul. 

"Ami?" 

The unexpected touch on her shoulder caused her to spin and give a startled yelp.

"Adam!" Ami didn't know whether to cry or laugh with relief at the sight of the eldest of the Tomorrow People. The dark haired Australian was the most beautiful sight that could have greeted her at that moment.

"I didn't mean to scare you, but you seemed kind of out of it. I had been calling your name for a while," Adam Newman gave her an apologetic smile, reaching down to retrieve the book bag that had dropped from her hands in her surprise. "You all right? You look like you've seen a ghost?"

"There's a woman trying to read my mind," Ami blurted the words out quickly, without thinking. Too late, she looked around, relieved that no one was in hearing distance.

Adam looked up, the good humor vanishing from his face and being replaced with concern. "Who? Where?"

"Across the quad –" Ami turned, raised her hand to point and stopped. 

The figure was gone – faded away into the shadows the same way that Angel had last night. 

"Oh God, Adam. Something weird is going on."

* * *

[Previous Part][2] | [Next Part][3]

   [1]: mailto:shadows@alternate-realities.net
   [2]: sl-auos4.html
   [3]: sl-auos6.html



	7. Chapter Six

Author's Notes: Brackets [] denote places where telepathy is being used.

* * *

## A Union of Souls, Chapter Six

by [Michele Mason Bumbarger][1]

* * *

"A guy gives you his business card and you get paranoid? Geez, Ami, most girls like to be hit on."

With a frustrated groan, Ami pressed her face into her pillow, recalling precisely why she had wanted to talk to Adam -- and only Adam -- about what happened at Club Indigo and on the quad. As much as Megabyte Damon was her friend and fellow Tomorrow Person, there were times when she wanted to strangle the red-haired American. And this was one of them. 

"I knew that you wouldn't take me seriously." With her face buried in the pillow, Ami knew that her words came out muffled, but she didn't really care. "You never take anything seriously, Megabyte."

She heard her friend snort with indignation. "I'm hurt. I teleported all the way from London just because you were upset and this is –"

Lifting her head, Ami shot him a disbelieving glare. "You were just hoping that Celia would show up in her athletic bra and bike shorts again."

"No, not exactly," Megabyte protested, but his words lacked vehemence and fire. As Ami continued to glare pointedly at him, he lowered his head and began shoving potato chips into his mouth.

"I can't believe this." Sprawled on her bed, Ami rolled over onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. "I'm being stalked and the only thing one of my best friends is concerned about is seeing my roommate half-naked." Ami tried to summon a hint of guilt as she heard Megabyte choke, but couldn't seem to manage it.

"All right you two, knock it off," Adam gave a handful of her braids a playful tug. "I swear, sometimes you two are as bad as Kevin and Jade. You know, I'm beginning to think there's something to that theory about repressed attraction."

This time it was Ami who choked, strangling on the bubble of laughter that swelled up in her chest and throat. The strangled laughter turned into a violent coughing fit that left her throat raw and hoarse, and left Megabyte glaring indignantly at her when she finally recovered. 

"It wasn't that funny," Megabyte muttered.

"You're right," Ami gave a little cough and took a sip of water, "It was actually a rather frightening and disturbing thought."

"As disturbing as your stalker?" Megabyte challenged. "That's if, you really are being stalked?"

She ignored his disbelief. "Then what do you call it? I run into some really weird guy at the club last night and then this woman today – it has to be more than coincidence."

"Or they could be just coincidence," Adam said softly. He held up his hands to ward off her objections and hurriedly continued. "I'm not saying that Angel wasn't weird or that it's your imagination that you were being probed today, but I think that maybe – maybe you might be misinterpreting things with this Angel?"

"Oh, you too now. Thank you so much, Brutus."

"Brutus?" Megabyte frowned in confusion at her words.

"Julius Caesar." Adam explained the reference. "The play?" When Megabyte continued to stare blankly at him, Adam shook his head sadly. "Megabyte, there are other things in the world besides comic books and science-fiction novels."

"I know that," Megabyte muttered, "I just haven't gotten around to reading that stuff yet."

Adam turned to Ami, evidently deciding that Megabyte was a lost cause and to just ignore him for the moment. "I'm not against you, Ami. You know that. But, you admitted that you were tired last night, there were all sorts of things going through your shields. Couldn't you have just overreacted to a random thought or emotion that Angel was having?"

"I could have but –" Ami paused, looking down at her lap. She tugged on a few of her braids, a gesture that was both nervous and comforting. "I just have a feeling. I can't even put it into words, but something's not right."

"I have to admit, when you put it like that, I start to take you seriously," Megabyte admitted. "Trust Ami's feelings. That's one thing you're good at – bad feelings that are always right."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Ami looked up, feeling a chill creep over her bones. Teasing she could handle; the reminder that her feelings tended to be 'right on the money,' as Megabyte was fond of saying, was not what she wanted to hear. She hated mysteries, especially the ones that centered around her and her fellow Tomorrow People. Especially when the mystery in question didn't appear to have any clues.

"No," Megabyte said honestly. "But it doesn't make me feel any better either."

"Then let's say that you're right," Adam supposed. He leaned back against the foot of Ami's bed, reaching out to pull the braid of hair from her mouth. She hadn't even realized that she was chewing on it; it was a nervous habit that she was trying to break, with very little success. "This woman and Angel are somehow connected and they're following you. This man, Angel, is our only connection. We could go talk to him at his office."

"No," Ami shook her head. She didn't know why the thought of going to Angel's office seemed less than viable, when that had been precisely her plan before Adam and Megabyte showed up in LA. "I mean, what if you're right and he was just a really strange guy. He's a private investigator. He'll get suspicious or curious if we start asking questions."

"Hey I know," Megabyte pushed aside the bag of potato chips. "You could hire him."

"What?" Ami and Adam asked the question in unison.

"Well, if you go talk to him and he seems level, then you hire him to find out who the weird lady is."

"And what exactly do I say, Megabyte? Hello, I'm Ami. I'm a telepath and I happen to know for an absolute fact that there's this psychic woman hanging around campus trying to read my mind. Do you think you could find her for me?"

"You really need a date, don't you?"

Before Ami could word an objection the door opened and Celia flounced into the room. At the sight of Adam and Megabyte, she gave a delighted – and somewhat annoying --squeal, "Company! Great, are you guys staying for dinner?"

One glance at the admiring look on Megabyte's face told Ami the answer to that question. 

She really had to hand it to her roommate. She did have the most impeccable of timing.

[Don't worry about it,] Adam's telepathic voice sounded clearly in her mind, relaying support and understanding. [We'll figure it out. The answer is out there. We just have to find it.]

[Whatever you say, Mulder,] Ami responded with a grateful smile. Then hearing Celia's flirtatious giggle at whatever Megabyte said to her, Ami rolled her eyes. [Can we just make sure he doesn't drool too much? I kind of like that rug.]

* * *

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   [1]: mailto:shadows@alternate-realities.net
   [2]: sl-auos5.html
   [3]: sl-auos7.html



	8. Chapter Seven

* * *

## A Union of Souls, Chapter Seven

by [Michele Mason Bumbarger][1]

* * *

"This is a strong argument for why the British prefer tea." Angel entered the office in time to see Giles placing a cup – of what Angel suspected to be bad coffee – aside.

"What?" Cordelia stared at the former Watcher from across the desk. "You don't like my coffee?"

"It's – it's a bit strong for my tastes, Cordelia."

"Ah, don't spare her feelings, we're an honest lot around here," Doyle stretched out behind the desk that he had claimed as his, propping his feet up. "You can tell her the truth. That it's absolutely wretched."

"And that from someone who starts the day with a shot out of the closest bottle on hand that isn't empty."

"Did Ami call?" Angel stepped fully into the office, pausing before the coffee machine. He lifted the pot and with a sigh, poured it into a mug. The smell of it caught him instantly, and he decided that maybe Giles – and the British – had the right idea about tea. 

Or maybe they needed to either teach Cordelia to make coffee or keep her away from the coffeemaker.

"Who?" Cordelia asked.

"The girl from the college club," Doyle supplied. To Angel he added, "No, she didn't."

Giles pushed his glasses up on his nose and peered thoughtfully at the half-demon. "This would be the young lady from your vision? You two didn't come to her aid last night?"

Angel took a tentative sip of the coffee. The taste of it made him grateful that he was already dead and couldn't die from unintentional poisoning. Putting the cup quickly aside, he turned to Giles. "It doesn't exactly work like that, Giles. Doyle has the vision, but it only tells him who's in trouble. We never know exactly what the trouble is, or really how to help.

"Sometimes, I don't think the people we help know right away."

That had definitely been the case with Ami. The young woman was not in any trouble or danger that he could see. But Doyle had the vision and Whistler – the knowledge that the demon was lurking around LA gave Angel a serious case of what Buffy called 'the wiggins.' Usually Doyle's visions were enough; if Whistler was sent to help him as well, then things were definitely going to escalate. And they would probably escalate pretty quickly.

"But you met with her and determined that she is in some sort of soul endangering peril?"

"I talked to her," Angel nodded, leaning back against the file cabinet. "There's something…"

The vampire's voice trailed off as his mind returned to the meeting the previous night. As usual, his attempts at social finesse fell flat, but that wasn't what disturbed him. There had been something about the girl herself – something about her that screamed out power and energy. Last night at the club, he had only been able to briefly put his finger on what it was – before Whistler's unexpected entry and subsequent distraction. But this morning, upon waking, it came back to him with complete clarity.

Ami Jackson had an aura that was far different from normal mortals. In his two centuries, he had seldom encountered its like – and one of those encounters had been in the form of Drusilla. The aura buzzed of psychic energy, frighteningly strong amounts of psychic energy if he could be so easily aware of it. Even Ronald Meltzer, with the things he could do, hadn't had this particular signature. But then again, Meltzer's entire being radiated darkness, a darkness that tainted everything. 

The girl – Ami – was not like that. And had it not been for Doyle's vision, Angel might have simply dismissed her and figured that with that much psychic potential, she could take care of herself.

But maybe that was what Doyle's vision had been about. Maybe that's why Whistler was here. There was a good chance that she couldn't take care of herself. There was a good chance that she didn't know the potential at her fingertips, or how to control it.

Somehow, though, deep inside Angel doubted that. There was something more there that they hadn't seen, or couldn't see.

"So, are you going to take a private moment or clue the rest of us in, here?" Doyle's voice pulled Angel from his meandering thoughts.

"She felt—" Angel paused, his eyes darting from one face to the next. There was really no easy way to say this that wouldn't raise hackles – or even create some worry and fear. "She reminded me of Dru."

"Oh," Cordelia plopped down behind her desk. "So, she's a psycho college student who's desperately in need of our help. Which, by the way, does anyone here see a problem with helping a college student?"

Three faces stared at her blankly.

She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly in exasperation. "I'm talking payment options here. We are trying to run a business and quite frankly, college students are – well they're poor as dirt."

Angel looked away from her. The money issue was still a sensitive spot between the three of them. He understood Doyle's point of view; he even understood Cordelia's somewhat less than altruistic ideas. What they didn't understand was that it wasn't about the money; he could never let it be about the money or he might lose touch with who he was and what he was doing. 

Some people just needed help no matter what.

"It isn't always about the money Cordelia."

"Besides," Doyle's voice interrupted them, "College students just use Mommy and Daddy's credit cards. And I had a vision. We can't turn our back on her. Well, Angel can't turn his back on her."

"You charge people?" Angel felt Giles' eyes on him, but he didn't look in that direction. If it had been possible for a vampire to blush, Angel knew that he would have been at that moment.

"No duh. We are running a business here, Giles. We have bills and rent and necessities."

"It's a necessary evil," Doyle explained. "Angel likes to be the mysterious knight in shining armor, but people don't need saviors. They can get salvation at church. They just need a nice guy who's doing his job and getting paid for it."

"No attachment, no lingering guilt," Giles mused. Angel turned to look at the man, hearing a note of thoughtfulness creep into his voice. "It actually makes a bit of twisted sense. And you are still doing a good thing, Angel. Helping people.

"But, I'd rather like to get back to the subject on hand. What did you mean when you said that she reminded you of Drusilla?" 

Angel felt a hint of relief. Leave it to Giles to keep the conversation on track. "She feels like Dru. I can't really explain it except that Dru was different from everyone else. She had this . . . energy . . . it's what attracted me to her to begin with."

"You mean bad-vamp you, right?" Cordelia blinked up at him from behind the desk.

"Yes," Angel nodded. He looked at Giles, offering further explanation. "It's been a long time since I've felt anything like that at all."

"You think that's why Whistler's in town?" Doyle asked.

"Whistler? The demon?" The former Watcher looked up expectantly. 

"What demon?" Cordelia demanded from behind her desk.

"You know him?"

"I know of him. Buffy mentioned an encounter with a demon around the time that you," the Watcher paused and stumbled, "That Angelus was going to release Acathala." Giles removed his glasses and began to clean them. "She said that she thought he was on our side, but she wasn't in the mood for his 'know-it-all-chit-chat.' "

Doyle nodded. "That would be Whistler."

"Hello? Am I invisible? Who is Whistler? Since when do we talk about demons like they're old friends?" Cordelia paused, her eyes flickering towards Doyle whose face was approaching indignation, "You don't count, you're only half-demon. And you're really not that scary or that evil. Unless we count your apartment. Or your wardrobe."

Doyle appeared to be somewhat mollified. "Whistler found Angel in New York. Pulled him out of the sewers, cleaned him up and sent him to Sunnydale to help the Slayer. I don't think he expected it to blow up in his face the way it did though."

"So, what if it's related?" Angel broke into the conversation before he could feel the usual stinging barbs of guilt and remorse. He noted the three pairs of confused eyes that focused on him. 

"If what is related, Angel?"

"This girl and the Book of Isiri."

"I'm not following."

Doyle muttered, "You're not alone."

"Okay, it's pretty much a given that Cordovan has the Book. Whistler implied that Cordovan might have a witch – and we're not talking benevolent Wicca magick here – working for him. What if something in that Book connects Cordovan to Ami?"

"It's a possibility." Giles pointed his folded glasses at the vampire. "You do however realize that if this Cordovan has a witch in his employ, someone familiar with the black arts, this makes him a much more formidable adversary?"

"And sounds like all the more reason we need to get that book back," Doyle pointed out. "What's in it, anyway?"

"I'm afraid that I don't know. It has been lost for nearly two centuries. The rituals and spells contained in its pages are reported to have great powers of destruction and at times, to be capable of even bending the fabric of reality itself. In my greatest imaginings, I can not begin to fathom what may lie in its pages –

"Well, that's not necessarily true, I have lived on the hellmouth for quite some time. However, I must confess that –"

Cordelia slammed her chair backwards away from the desk. It collided with the wall, loudly. "The short version is that you don't know, right?"

"I fear that is correct."

"Great, so Watcher-guy doesn't know. And if Watcher-guy doesn't know, we should probably all just bend over and kiss our asses good-bye."

"Your optimism is infectious, Cordelia."

"Watcher-guy." Angel said the word slowly, a thought forming in his head. He ignored the chagrined and insulted glance that Giles tossed in his direction as he proceeded to explain. "You were a Watcher, Giles. You said the Watchers Council had the Book for a while. Wouldn't they have made notes? Journals?"

"It is possible, Angel, but you must remember that I am not part of the Watchers Council anymore. They really don't speak to me at all. And since Buffy quit the Council – I'm not quite sure what our recourse would be."

"Wesley's a member of the Council," Cordelia pointed out. "He didn't get fired like you did."

Doyle sat up attentively. "Who's Wesley?" The half-man's jealousy would have been humorous if not for the situation.

"Do you think that Wesley would help us, Giles?"

"He helped at graduation," Cordelia defended the absent Watcher. "He swallowed his pride and let Giles be in charge guy again. Not like blowing up the library was that hard but –"

"I shall give him a call," Giles cut off Cordelia's prattle, for which Angel was grateful. The last thing he wanted to hear was Cordelia extolling the virtues of one of the most inept and bumbling Watchers Angel had ever met. Of course that was in comparison to Giles, so there was a chance that he was being biased.

"I'm going to find Whistler," Angel announced. It would give him something to do while waiting for Giles to get the information they needed.

Giles paused in mid-dial. "In broad daylight?"

"He uses sewers and electrical tunnel thingies," Cordelia explained. "He's really good at it."

"Who's Wesley?" Doyle's question drifted to Angel's ears as he left the office. "What makes you think you can trust some one named Wesley? I think –"

The lowering of the freight elevator gate thankfully drowned out the rest of the conversation. 

* * *

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   [1]: mailto:shadows@alternate-realities.net
   [2]: sl-auos6.html
   [3]: sl-auos8.html



	9. Chapter Eight

* * *

## A Union of Souls, Chapter Eight

by [Michele Mason Bumbarger][1]

* * *

The party at the Tau Kappa house was exactly what Ami expected: it was loud, and it was obnoxious. But even more importantly, it was proving to be exactly what the doctor ordered. Among the madness, mayhem and music that shook the walls to their very foundations, Ami found distraction. After her 'encounter' in the quad and after talking to Adam and Megabyte, she had been ready to beg off tonight's engagement with Celia for an evening of sitting at home and –

"Completely upsetting yourself more than you already are," had been Adam's description of her intentions. She had a hard time believing that Adam was encouraging her to simply shrug off the oddities that had pervaded her life within less than twelve hours, but his explanation made sense. "Unless this woman shows up again, there's no reason to tie yourself in knots over it. Let me handle the paranoia around here. And besides, you can always keep an eye out for her; if it wasn't a fluke, and you see her again at the party, maybe someone else will too."

And most importantly, Ami knew that if she did see the mystery figure again, her two white knights – Adam Newman and Megabyte Damon – would come charging in to save her. 

But right at this moment, the only thing she wanted saving from was the noise and racket inside the fraternity house. Weaving her way through the crowds, she made her way onto the front porch of the house. After a repeated check to make certain that the porch steps were dry, she plopped down and took a deep breath. 

"Ami?"

The sound of her name caused her to turn and look up . . . and to cringe inwardly.

Standing no less than two feet away from her was a very attractive – and seemingly sober Delta Rho. "Pete. Hello."

Her blind date disaster absently pushed a lock of dark blonde hair away from his eyes and gave her what she had to admit was an extremely attractive smile. "I thought that was you. What's the matter, don't like the party?"

"It's a bit loud," Ami admitted. She lifted her drink of choice – bottled spring water – to her lips and wondered where a stampeding herd of elephants was when she needed one. "And hot and smoky."

"There's just no pleasing you, is there?" Ami would later wish that she had a mirror, because she would have loved to see the look on her face. Whatever it was, it made Pete instantly contrite as he held up a hand in protest and shook his head. "I meant that in a completely friendly teasing banter sort of way. It's just that when I get a little nervous or uneasy, I start to say the first thing that pops into my head. And usually end up eating my foot."

"Nervous?"

"Yeah. See, I'm trying to score points right now with the girl that I made a complete ass out of myself in front of last night, so this is kind of shaky ground." He looked absently around, stepping out of the path of three weaving girls who had more than enough to drink already. When he looked back, honey brown eyes pleaded with her. "A little encouragement would go a long way, here."

As much as Ami wanted to dismiss him, as much as she had been extremely disappointed last night, she couldn't help but smile slightly. Pete was charming. Despite her better judgment, she slid to the side making room for him to sit on the steps beside her and not block the entrance to Tau Kappa house. "You can sit down."

Pete released a visible sigh of relief as he lowered himself to the stone steps. "Let me say that I am really, really sorry about last night. I don't normally behave like that."

"You don't normally get so drunk that your friends have to carry you home when you go out on blind dates?"

"Well, I wouldn't call it a blind date. I mean, I stare at you every Tuesday and Thursday morning across Doleman Auditorium."

"I know," Ami looked away, feeling a warm blush rise to her cheeks. It had taken two weeks for Celia to convince her that the unidentified upperclassmen was watching her with interest and another two weeks for Celia to ingratiate herself into Pete's circle of friends and arrange last night's failed date. "So, that's your excuse?"

"No, hormones are my excuse. I was listening to the call of testosterone and trying to impress you. This morning I woke up with a terrible hangover and the realization that acting like a neanderthal did not impress you."

"You're right. It didn't."

"Ouch," Pete gave a low whistle. "You're harsh. I thought you British were supposed to be polite and unflappable."

Ami shrugs, "America's wearing off on me."

Pete smiled. "Can I get another chance, here? Take you to a movie? Buy you dinner? Show you my really cool and personable side?"

She smiled in spite of herself. She had to admit she actually did like this guy. As long as he stayed sober. "I'd like that."

"She smiles and she says yes. I had to do something right in a former life." Pete stood and looked to her a bit sheepishly. For the first time, she noticed the backpack he slung over one shoulder. "Well, as much as I hate to leave, I need to get to the library."

"On a Friday night?"

"Yeah. Remember that hangover that I told you about? It kept me out of class with Dr. Death, the professor from hell. However, in a rare moment of compassion, he is allowing me to make up the quiz I managed to … be sick through … this morning. The only caveat is that he also teaches the same class for three hours on Saturday. I have to be there tomorrow morning."

Pete fingered his shoulder strap thoughtfully. "I'm sure there's a lesson to be learned somewhere in there, but I haven't figured out what it is yet." Then he flashed her a smile, "I'll call you, all right?"

Ami nodded. "That'll be fine."

She was still smiling when he rounded the corner, disappearing in the direction of central campus. She even obliging slid aside making room for the slightly tipsy girl who joined her and began to babble about what hunky fun guys the Tau Kappas were.

"Hello, earth to Ami?"

Startled Ami gave a yelp and jumped back away from the hand being waved in front of her face. Celia stared at her, confusion apparent. "Boy, whatever she told you must have knocked your socks off."

"Who? What –" Ami blinked, suddenly aware that her head felt heavy and leaded. She felt as if someone had stuffed her head full of cotton. She leaned against the tree – tree, she didn't remember a tree, she had been sitting on the porch –

Ami's eyes focused on the frat house across the street, the party still in full swing. She didn't remember leaving the porch. She would have remembered walking across the street, wouldn't she? Her head spun and she took a few deep gulps of air to steady her breathing.

Something was very wrong.

The Tomorrow Person tried to focus on her roommate's words, but it was difficult. She could barely hold her shields in place, all of the background noise rising to sound like the din of a thousand tractor trailers on a bridge. 

"Who was that skanky ho anyway? My god, I have never seen anything so nasty before. And the way she looked at me, as if I was interrupting her precious conversation. Please tell me that you know her from one of her classes and that she isn't –"

"Who are you talking about Celia?" Ami clutched the tree. Her head was throbbing; the noise just kept getting louder and louder. 

"Miss Goth trash that you were talking to just now?"

"Goth trash. I wasn't – I didn't –" Ami gave up trying to talk. She didn't remember talking to anyone since the drunk girl took up residence in Pete's abandoned seat. 

Something was very, very, very wrong.

"Celia. I'm going home. I don't feel too good." Before her roommate could say a word in objection, Ami lurched away. She stumbled to a halt in the first dark shadow she could find, and summoning all of her concentration, disappeared in crackle of light and energy.

* * *

[Previous Part][2] | [Next Part][3]

   [1]: mailto:shadows@alternate-realities.net
   [2]: sl-auos7.html
   [3]: sl-auos9.html



	10. Chapter Nine

* * *

## A Union of Souls, Chapter Nine

by [Michele Mason Bumbarger][1]

* * *

"She came back." Shivering and hugging herself, Ami re-materialized half-way around the world, a mile beneath the surface of an uncharted desert island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. She stood surrounded by millennia old alien technology, a spaceship that was a living, knowing entity and the one place that she could always call home. The one place she could always feel safe. Only she didn't feel safe now.

The Ship buzzed and hummed, a telepathic lullaby meant to calm and soothe. Alien blue light filled the open chamber, pulsing and dimming in accordance with its soothing music. 

Seated on the floor, Adam looked up expectantly at her sudden appearance. "Ami?"

"She came back," Ami repeated the words. The Ship's awareness touched her own, wrapping around her like a pair of loving arms. It enabled her to calm her breathing, to gather together the thoughts that had been scattered to the winds. "The woman from earlier, Adam. She came back."

Adam rose, his confusion immediately replaced by concern. She felt the concern rolling off of him in waves and it provided a comfort all its own. He touched her arm gently, rubbing lightly and with affection, "Are you certain?"

"Oh, yes, I am completely certain." Ami nodded, feeling tears suddenly begin to sting her eyes. The feeling of light headedness had not passed entirely, but it was fading. She was becoming more sure of herself with every passing moment; more certain that something terrible would have happened if Celia hadn't shown up when she did. 

Something more terrible than what had already happened.

"She did something to me." Ami choked on the sobs she couldn't control. She lowered her head in embarrassment, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. "She got inside my head and I couldn't stop her."

"Are you all right?"

Ami shook her head, her words nearly lost to her sobs. "I don't know."

She gave over to her cries then, clinging to Adam and the comfort he provided while she bawled onto his shoulder. Adam didn't laugh or tease; he didn't even ask useless questions. He understood her pain and her fear. She had been violated, attacked. Ami felt vulnerable and helpless. 

And she was deathly afraid.

Only when she recovered herself enough to talk coherently and when her thoughts were actually making sense, did Adam -- start asking questions. But always in a subdued tone, always being supportive and understanding, never making assumptions.

"What do you remember?" Adam asked. They were sitting against one of the bulk heads of the ship, drinking the juice provided by the Ship. She was sandwiched between Adam and Megabyte – who had teleported in sometime during her hysterical sobbing. 

"I don't remember a lot of anything," Ami admitted. 

"Try." Megabyte's words and attitude were devoid of his usual teasing and humor. When push came to shove, her fellow Tomorrow Person knew when to shelve the banter. 

"I don't -- one minute I was talking to Pete and then Celia was acting like she had been trying to get my attention for hours."

Adam studied her. "Who's Pete?"

"Just a guy," she shook her head, and then realizing that Adam planned on leaving no stone unturned, she continued, "He's a sophomore, we have a class together and I guess he likes me." Somehow, she couldn't call up the same excitement and enthusiasm for Pete's interest as she had earlier. 

"He was at the party?"

"No, he missed class because of a hang over. He was on his way to the library to study for a make-up quiz."

Megabyte frowned skeptically. "On a Friday night?"

Ami shrugged. "Stranger things have happened."

"Not that strange."

Adam toyed with the medallion that hung around his neck, his eyes distant. Ami knew that he was turning inward, analyzing and re-analyzing every single word she said and every detail that she gave him. "Was there anyone else there?"

"No, just –" Ami stopped, a vague image rising from the clouds of her memory. "Wait, there was – a girl. I thought she was just drunk so I started trying to ignore her but –"

Adam waited. When she said nothing else, he prompted her. "But?"

"I can't remember a lot about her," Ami admitted after a few frustrating moments of even failing to recall the girl's face. "I don't even remember what she looks like."

Ami watched her two friends exchange a glance.

"I think we have our mind-reader," Megabyte commented.

Adam nodded in agreement. "I think you're probably right. But if you don't remember anything, Ami, then we don't have a lot to go on."

"We could mind-merge," Megabyte suggested.

"Ami? Are you up to it?"

With a resigned sigh, Ami pushed herself to her feet. To be truthful, she wasn't really up to much of anything. The last thing she wanted was to have her mind wide open and exposed again so soon after what happened. On the other hand, however, she didn't want a repeat performance of tonight. It was the lesser of two evils. "Let's just get this over with."

Adam and Megabyte stood with her and in a matter of moments, the three had joined their minds, the two boys' thoughts merging with Ami's awareness and memories.

[Think about the party,] Adam instructed her.

It took some fumbling and mis-steps; her mind truly did not want to reflect on the party or what had happened. But then suddenly, they were there. Inside her mind. Inside what was forgotten. 

Inside her dreams.

*****

_ Ami wandered the darkened stone corridors alone. She could see nothing in the pitch blackness that surrounded her, but somehow her feet, or perhaps it was instinct guided her along. She knew the corridors were stone because she could feel the cool roughness beneath her feet. She trailed her fingertips along unseen walls and felt the bumps and ridges of the stone there. _

She was alone here. Utterly, completely and totally alone. There was not a single voice in her mind, not a single awareness other than her own. The silence was deafening. She tried not to think too much about it because each time she did it brought tears to her eyes. At least it had gotten easier to deal with. At first, awakening in the strange darkness, alone with only her thoughts for the first time in years, it had been nearly maddening. So accustomed she was to having the minds of the others, she almost could not handle it. Yet, somehow, she had found the strength to stand against the silence and the darkness. Somehow she found the strength to wander nameless, soundless corridors always seeking, but never finding.

Finding what? She didn't know anymore. Ami didn't know whether she wanted to find a way out or if she simply wanted to find another soul. All she knew was that she was trapped here. Here, in the absolute null space that was nowhere and made of nothing. Here, where if she allowed her imagination to roam long enough, she could feel her soul slipping away from her.

A light. That was new. She looked away from it. It was bright, it was glowing hot and red and it hurt her eyes. It hurt more than just her eyes. The light burned her and she backed away from it, making a whimpering sound. She stumbled over the hem of her gauzy white dress – for the first time she knew that it was white. Made of light lace. It reminded her of her baptismal gown. 

But the light that burned like a flame was distracting. The more she moved away from it, the more it tried to reach for her. Phantom red and orange hands reached from the light, brushing across her skin, her arms, grabbing her legs. The phantom fingers hurt. They burned symbols into her flesh – onto her forehead and chest and arms. They cut into her very soul and she screamed in agonizing pain. No one heard her screams which echoed off the stone walls. She was alone; she was alone and she was being slowly and mercilessly killed.

She would die alone.

That thought was more frightening than any of her other ones. She fought and twisted in the grip of those phantom fingers. She fought against being pulled into the light.

"Fighting is useless," a voice whispered in her mind. "You belong to us now."

Ami fought harder. 

The light blinded her. She scrambled away from it, back to the safety and haven that was the stone corridors. Rough hands caught her, glowing green eyes stripped away her shields and defenses, she was laid bare.

Ami screamed.

She was in the corridor again. Suddenly, abruptly. Without warning. But something was different this time. There was light; not the ghastly red light that seemed to burn from the inferno of hell itself, but a soft white and blue light that called to her and beckoned. A light that offered her safety.

"I won't let them have you." The voice came from the soft white light. The voice was soothing, familiar. She drifted closer and closer; Ami could see a figure bathed in the light, but it was too bright to make out the features. She could clearly make out the hand that extended towards her, a hand that was large and masculine. A strong hand. A hand that would help her find her way home. "Take my hand."

Ami hesitated, she didn't know why. This was the way home; this was the way to safety and freedom. Yet, she stared at that hand, stared at the mark of infinity that suddenly branded itself in the palm and hesitated. "There's no other way, is there?"

"There is. If you want to take it. I won't stop you." 

Ami stared over his shoulder at the bright light. It scared her. She looked back at the hand of hope. "I'm not ready to die, Angel." 

Angel. She looked up and saw his face clearly. Somehow her soul knew him before she did. He was here; he was her savior. "This way could be worse."

The blue light was fading now. Angel was fading. Her chances were fading.

"I'll take that chance." She took his hand.

The world fell away beneath them.

*****

Abruptly, Ami jerked out of the mind-merge. Her heart was pounding, her knees were shaking. She literally slumped to the floor as her legs gave way beneath her. The dream – the memory of the dream – was more potent than anything she had ever recalled in a mind-merge before. The red light, the cold hands – all of it played and replayed in her mind while she tried to make sense of it.

"Ami?" The young woman startled at the feeling of Megabyte's hand on her shoulder. 

"Whoa," her friend's voice and touch were soothing, "You really are freaked aren't you?"

"It's all right," Adam took Ami's hand and gave it a soft squeeze. Comfort radiated from his touch, filtering through the mental shields that she had instinctively drawn around her when breaking the merge. "You're with us. It was just a dream."

Ami shook her head, body still trembling. "But it wasn't." As she said the words, she felt the ring of truth in them. It wasn't just a dream; it had been so much more than a dream. Everything there, every touch, every sound, had been real. The stone beneath her feet and the gown she wore were as real as the Ship and the clothes on her back. 

It had all been vividly and hauntingly real.

And it meant something. She realized now that she had known what it meant when experiencing the dream. The dream-she, the person she was in that dream, knew what it meant and knew the true meaning behind her conversation with Angel. But Ami of the waking world didn't know; Ami of the waking world didn't even remember that dream.

And Ami of the waking world had no desire to go back and explore it any time soon.

She must have been projecting her thoughts, because Megabyte gave her shoulder a squeeze. "You don't have to, if you don't want to. No one is going to make you."

"It still doesn't tell us anything," Ami whispered, giving the American a grateful smile. For all that they tried to get under one another's skin – and usually succeeded – she was glad to have him as a friend and fellow Tomorrow Person. 

"Yes, it does," Adam sat back on his haunches. "It tells us that we really need to talk to this Angel. If you're up to it?"

"Now?" Ami asked. She wasn't sure she was up to doing anything or going anywhere at the moment; but she wasn't sure that she would ever be up to it anytime soon. And she wasn't so daft to not understand that they had to get to the bottom of things – and quickly. 

Angel was the only key.

"No time like the present, right?" 

"Um, Adam," Megabyte checked his watch, "You know it's like late in LA, right? I mean, it's sort of past the nine to five hours?"

"Exactly, even better. Maybe we can take a look around his office. Find out something about him and what he's doing in Ami's suppressed dreams." 

Megabyte shrugged and pushed himself to his feet. "I've never turned down a good misdemeanor. Why not?"

"Not you, Megabyte."

"Excuse me?"

"You're not going." Adam gave the other Tomorrow Person his very patented don't-even-think-about-arguing-with-me-look. Ami knew that look all too well. "Just me and Ami. He did contact her. You stay here, just in case."

"In case what?"

"Just in case," Adam repeated the words with a finality that earned him a dark glare from Megabyte. He extended his hand to Ami, helping her to her feet. "Are you up to this?"

"I better be." She flashed him what she hoped was her most confidant and reassuring smile.

"What if you need my help?" Megabyte protested.

"Then we'll call you," Adam answered right before they teleported away.

* * *

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   [1]: mailto:shadows@alternate-realities.net
   [2]: sl-auos8.html
   [3]: sl-auos10.html



	11. Chapter Ten

* * *

## A Union of Souls, Chapter Ten

by [Michele Mason Bumbarger][1]

* * *

"Where's Whistler?" Doyle greeted Angel as he walked back through the doors of the offices. The Irishman sat in front of the computer, Cordelia leaning over his shoulder while they both peered at the screen. He saw Giles on the telephone in the other office, and the former Watcher nodded to him in greeting and acknowledgment as Angel sank discouraged into the nearest chair. "You didn't find him?"

"No, I didn't find him," Angel admitted reluctantly. "I know Whistler. At least I thought that I knew Whistler. I checked all the places that I thought he would be, but – nothing. How about you? Did you guys learn anything about the Book of Isiri?"

"It's like trying to find a needle in a haystack," Cordelia grumbled, slumping back into a chair. "I can't believe that I am going to say this, but I really wish Willow was here right now." 

Angel lifted a questioning eyebrow at her. 

"Well, she's like Wicca computer girl. This would be a piece of cake for her. I mean even Doyle can't find anything occult or magick related. And the dork can usually find something on the computer."

"I think there was a thinly veiled compliment in there somewhere," Doyle remarked, staring at her in disbelief.

"Very thinly," Angel said. He looked up expectantly as he heard Giles end his phone call and step into the outer office. Four years of knowing Giles told him how to interpret the look on the man's face. "You found something?"

Giles nodded solemnly. His pale eyes moved from one interested face to another, finally stopping when his gaze again rested on the ensouled vampire. "I'm afraid you're not going to like it."

"Ooh! There's a news flash," Cordelia chimed. "Something bad is happening, it involves magick and we're not going to like it. Boy, and I thought this was party weekend."

Giles turned his head to give Cordelia a dark, warning glare. Angel merely sighed. One thing he had learned in the few months of working with Cordelia was that she tended to return more and more to bitch mode the later the hour and the more tired that she was. Giles' reaction was a clear illustration of how much things had changed and how far apart lives had drifted. Once upon a time, Cordelia's cutting remark would not have phased the man at all. Now, it was Angel and Doyle who easily ignored and shrugged her off.

"What's the news, Giles?" Angel asked carefully.

The librarian took a seat on the couch, removing his glasses as he did so. For a moment, he pinched the bridge of his nose, and then set to his course, replaced glasses and addressed those in the room. "I was able to contact Wesley, whom after some persuasion was willing to check the Watcher Journals relating to the Book of Isiri. Mind you, he didn't find a great deal of information, and he does intend to keep working, but the one spell in that book that we should be wary of is known as 'The Enslavement.' "

"I'm already wary of it," Doyle commented. "I certainly don't like the sound of it."

"As well you shouldn't." Giles paused, his eyes straying towards the coffeepot. He barely suppressed a grimace as he looked away from it and back at Angel. "The Enslavement is something of a rather nasty spell. It allows the caster – or a vessel appointed by the caster – to enslave the souls of living beings. To in essence, capture them and use them and their bodies as the caster deems necessary and appropriate."

"Gee, some of us don't speak Watcher, can we try that in English?"

This time it was actually Doyle who gave Cordelia an exasperated glare. "Did you ever see the movie 'Serpent and the Rainbow' Princess?"

"Yeah, what about it? And don't call me 'Princess.'"

"Soul capturing, Cordy. Zombies. For real," Doyle glanced at Giles for confirmation, "That's if I'm hearing you right."

"You are indeed," Giles nodded. "If this spell was to be used, the person would effectively be a puppet Cordelia. No free will, no choices. Everything they ever did, said, thought would all be controlled until the caster tired of them – or ate them."

"Ate them?" Three voices echoed the man's comment.

"Not literally, not in the cannibalistic sense of the word," Giles explained. "But once the Enslavement has been performed, the soul which is enslaved belongs to the caster – the master – as the case may be. One of the fringe benefits of the spell is that the caster may devour that soul, receiving energy and unspecified magickal power for an unspecified amount of time."

Doyle rapped his fingers on the desktop loudly. "I'm not liking that word unspecified. You used it twice too much for me."

"As I said, Doyle, Wesley didn't have much information for me. We can only hope that he finds us more. I certainly don't like the thought of that book being in the wrong hands."

"Cordovan's hands," Angel corrected. The vampire rubbed the back of his neck, trying to brush away the chill that washed over him as his thoughts took shape and form. He hadn't expected good news from Giles, but he had hoped that it wouldn't be quite as unsettling. "If Cordovan starts casting that spell he'll be able to raise an army of killers and assassins."

"And spies," Giles added. "The Master is able to see through the eyes of the enslaved."

"Then I guess the answer is simple enough." Angel stood and started forming an attack plan in his mind. "I'm going to get that book back. We can't let Cordovan cast that spell."

"You're going by yourself?" Doyle sprang to his feet instantly, nearly sputtering. "After what you just heard?"

"Doyle, I don't have a choice. We can't let Cordovan cast that spell."

"But what if he's already cast it?" Cordelia asked. Gone was the sarcasm and ice, replaced with the genuine concern she liked to pretend didn't exist. "Did you stop and think about that? Even if you go all 'grr' you might still get your ass kicked. Or worse."

"As much as I hate to admit it, Angel, Cordelia is right." Giles rose from the sofa. "You simply cannot go charging in to confront Cordovan without knowing what you might be up against. It's suicide. And while we may have had our differences, I don't intend to watch you throw your life – unlife – whatever – away."

"And I can't just sit around here and wait and see what happens. He has to be stopped."

"Whoa, slow down, Angel." Doyle rounded the desk coming to stand in front of him. "This isn't just about your vendetta against Cordovan, there's a bit more at stake here. We're behind you on this, but we gotta have a plan. 'Cause I don't know about you, but I happen to like having my body parts attached and not bleeding from every orifice."

The sound of three very slow and hesitant knocks on the outside door caused all four heads to turn. So caught up in his conversation with Giles, Doyle and Cordelia, even Angel's vampiric senses had not detected the two people entering the building. One of them, he didn't recognize at all; a young man in his early twenties, with a lean angular face, dark haired and dark eyed. 

The young woman was another matter entirely. Familiar almond shaped dark eyes stared at him as she lowered her hand from rapping on the door and tugged listlessly on a handful of the tiny braids that covered her head. 

"I was looking for Angel," her British accent rang out crisp and clear, her eyes never leaving his. "I guess I found you."

Doyle's mutter was soft enough that Angel was certain he was the only one who heard it. "And just in the nick of time, I might say."

* * *

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   [1]: mailto:shadows@alternate-realities.net
   [2]: sl-auos9.html
   [3]: sl-auos11.html



	12. Chapter Eleven

* * *

## A Union of Souls, Chapter Eleven

by [Michele Mason Bumbarger][1]

* * *

"Ami."

Angel remembered her. Ami didn't know why that surprised her so much or why she had expected him not to. After the dream revealed by the mind-merge, she could no longer buy into the thought that her encounter with Angel at Club Indigo had been mere coincidence, or that he was simply an overly shy and socially inept man trying to hit on the naïve college girl. 

An uncomfortable moment of silence passed while they stared at one another. It was odd enough that the man was still in his office at this time of night, but he also seemed completely unsurprised to see her at his office this time of night.

"Come in," Angel motioned her inside the office, "Please."

Ami hesitated, giving a quick glance at Adam before crossing the threshold. Her eyes quickly took in the group in the office, an attractive brunette, a cute dark haired man and an older gentleman who was polishing his glasses. And none of them seemed at all surprised to see someone showing up at the office at nearly midnight.

Ami couldn't resist commenting on that. "You keep late hours."

Angel looked at her oddly and she sensed he was debating how to respond to that question. Finally, he said simply, "So do you." He indicated the empty sofa, dark eyes darting with unveiled curiosity towards Adam, although he said nothing. "Please, sit down."

"Coffee?" The brunette perked up, her voice so incredibly chipper that it had to be forced. 

"No!" Three male voices answered the question before Ami or Adam could word an answer.

Angel gave her a half-smile, at least Ami thought it was a half-smile. "It's old. The coffee."

"Yeah, we haven't gotten around to makin' a fresh pot yet," the dark-haired man spoke with an Irish brogue. 

"But we can. If you want coffee," Angel said.

[You were right,] Adam's mind brushed hers, his words echoing as her own thoughts. [He is a little on the odd side.]

[They all seem to be,] Ami sent the telepathic response as she gave Angel a strained smile. "No, that's all right. It's late, I really don't want to drink coffee this late."

"What about your friend?" The Irishman asked.

"No thank you, I'm fine," Adam responded. 

Another moment of awkward silence passed. Ami couldn't shake the feeling that her and Adam's arrival had interrupted something – something important. 

The brunette gave a delicate cough and noticeably elbowed the Irishman in the rib cage. He, in turn, gave her a quick glance and then coughed as well.

"Oh, yeah." Angel indicated them with a nod of his head as he leaned against the desk. "This is Doyle and Cordelia. They work here with me." He paused, waving his hand in the direction of the older man, "And that's Giles. He's – he's –"

"A researcher," Giles replied. Having returned his glasses to his face, he pushed them up on the bridge of his nose. Ami immediately noticed his accent, so similar to her own. "Angel and I exchange information and help one another from time to time. You would be?"

"Ami," Ami supplied her name politely, feeling like she had made a connection with someone for the first time since walking into the office. Maybe it was this researcher's attitude and bearing, or maybe it was simply hearing the familiar traces of home, but whatever it was, she responded to him. "And this is Adam. He's a friend."

Giles sank into a nearby chair, folding his arms across his chest. "I presume you are here because you're in need of Angel's help?"

"Wow, Giles all those years at Oxford really did –" The brunette, Cordelia, began speaking, but suddenly stopped in mid-sentence at a look from Angel. She held her hands up, turned and walked behind the desk, "Fine, I'll just type. Or something."

"How can I help you?" Angel asked. No preliminaries, he simply picked up the conversation where he wanted. 

Again, Ami hesitated giving a quick glance at Adam – pleading for guidance. She knew that the elder Tomorrow Person wouldn't say or do anything unless she asked him to. He was going to allow her to take the lead, mostly because she was the person whom Angel had contacted. And she was the one who was having dreams about him. 

[The card,] Adam prompted. 

Reaching into her pocket, Ami produced the business card and flashed it at Angel. "Why did you give me this?"

"It's my business card."

"But what made you think that I would need your help?"

"So you are in trouble then?" The Irishman, Doyle, spoke up, his voice rising slightly in excitement. "Something's happened to you?"

The chill that crept down Ami's spine was beginning to become as familiar as an intimate friend. She felt Adam's ripple of surprise at the man's words and she looked from him to Angel and back again. "Why do you say that?"

"Because that's what we do here," Doyle responded without a pause. "We help people. And normally people who walk through those doors –" He nodded his dark head towards the open office door, " – aren't just stoppin' by to discuss the sports scores."

"Yeah. We help the hopeless," Cordelia added cheerfully. She glanced from Angel to Doyle, who were both staring at her with equally unreadable expressions, and back to Angel. "What? What?"

"Fine," she added with a dejected sigh and began to shuffle the papers on the desk. "Fine."

"What Doyle," Angel gave a final glance at the young woman behind the desk before turning his full attention to Ami, "Is trying to say is that people come to us with problems that they don't feel the police can handle. And we handle them. So?"

"So?" Ami aimed the question right back at him. She was only here to see if she could puzzle out the relationship between him, her dream and the woman who had violated her mind, but so far she was batting zero. 

"Allow me." Giles leaned forward in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. "At the risk of sounding entirely mad, has anything particularly unusual happened to you since meeting with Angel last night? Anything out of the ordinary that might possibly be deemed as inexplicable or even supernatural in nature?"

Ami touched the man's mind before she could stop herself. Something about his question put her off and made her exceptionally wary. Unfortunately, as she quickly glanced his thoughts, she didn't know whether to be more wary or less wary. The man believed every word that he spoke – even more importantly, he accepted the supernatural with the ease that most people accepted that the sky was blue and that human beings breathe air to live. 

[Ami--] Adam's words had a note of warning. He sensed what she was doing and chances were good that she would get a reprimand for her 'rudeness' later.

[He believes what he's saying, Adam.]

[I know that.] Ami detected the note of worry in Adam's 'voice' that she had not detected before. [But there's something more going on here, Ami. I felt what you felt from Angel and it's not – it's not normal. His friend, Doyle, doesn't feel normal either. I don't even think that they're human.]

[Alien then?] As she asked the question, Ami recalled a time when asking such a question not only wouldn't have occurred to her, but would have seemed ludicrous as well.

[I don't know.] The tone of his voice told her that Adam did not like not knowing.

"Well, I enjoy a good ballet as much as the next person, but this elaborate dance that you all are doing isn't going to add any cultural enrichment to my life. So, here's a better idea. Why don't we all just cut to the chase? Because I tell you what, friends, time grows short." The new voice and the words caused every head in the room to turn toward the doorway. A short stocky man leaned then, an ugly battered hat on his head and a bored look on his face. His eyes skipped from one face to the next, landing lastly on Adam and then Ami. "And don't you two realize how rude that is?"

Ami had been wary before. Now, she felt blind panic. Instinctively she clutched Adam's arm. She didn't know what was going on here and she wasn't sure that she wanted to know. But as this man's eyes met hers, she knew without a doubt that he knew precisely who she was and what she was; he knew that she and Adam had been speaking and he quite possibly had heard their conversation.

[Let's get out of here,] Adam kept his voice calm, but clutching his sleeve as she was, Ami could feel his trepidation as well.

"Whistler, I presume." Giles rose from his chair, and Ami detected the slightest hint of wariness from the researcher.

That was not a good sign.

[Let's go,] Ami agreed. She and Adam rose in unison, attracting everyone's attention.

"Stay put," the man said, "No one here is going to hurt you, but there's a pretty good chance that something out there will." When they made no move to sit back down, he shrugged. "Stand then, it's not bothering me any, but your legs might get tired after a while.

"I'm not your enemy though kids. Nobody here is. Check it out if you want to, but I'm giving you fair warning that you might not like what you see. By the way, Doyle, nice shirt."

"Great," Doyle muttered, "Now I have to burn it."

"I thought that from the first time I saw it on you," Cordelia remarked. Her eyes bounced from the man called Whistler to Doyle. "And what is it with the bad clothes anyway? Genetics?"

"We really need to go," Ami interjected, hedging towards the door. "I don't think that you can help me after all, Angel."

"Sorry to have disturbed you," Adam apologized, falling into step protectively behind her. "We'll just see ourselves out."

"You two kids think you can just walk away? You think you have a choice?" Whistler called after them. "You don't. This isn't about choice, this is about fate, destiny, whatever you want to call it. It's out of your hands, so don't fight it. Your dream had a meaning, little girl, and if you walk out that door you'll probably get killed before you figure out what that meaning is.

"Besides, you lot have been saving the world for a while now. What's one more night in the grand scheme of things?"

* * *

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   [1]: mailto:shadows@alternate-realities.net
   [2]: sl-auos10.html
   [3]: sl-auos12.html



	13. Chapter Twelve

* * *

## A Union of Souls, Chapter Twelve

by [Michele Mason Bumbarger][1]

* * *

Ami watched the mysterious and odd man, Whistler, seat himself behind one of the office desks. He removed his hat and placed it carefully on the desk, leaning back in chosen seat and propping booted feet on the desk. She and Adam were alone with the odd man; everyone else had gone downstairs to Angel's apartment after Whistler's assurances that he needed to talk to Ami and Adam alone. He could explain things, he claimed, "If you two kids are willing to suspend disbelief for a little while."

Ami didn't trust Whistler; she knew that Adam didn't either. And she didn't know whether to be comforted or worried by the fact that Angel and his co-workers were wary of the man as well. However, lack of trust aside, they both wanted to get to the bottom of what was going on. If he had answers about her resurfaced dream, or about that mysterious woman, Ami wanted them.

But, most importantly, what they wanted to know was what Whistler knew about them – and how he knew it.

"Who are you?" Adam demanded. Ami allowed Adam to take charge of the situation. He tended to be better at this sort of thing than she was. Maybe if he had taken charge in the other room instead of allowing her to bumble out, they wouldn't be talking to Whistler right now.

Fat chance, a voice inside her responded.

"Is that what you really want to know 'mate?'" Whistler said the last word in a very bad Australian accent, which Ami got the distinct feeling was done simply to annoy Adam and rattle his cage just a bit. Which made no sense at all. Why would someone who claimed to want to help them want to also annoy them?

Of course judging from the man's earlier behavior, chances were good that this was just a natural personality quirk. 

"No, what you really want to know is what I know about the two of you and how I know it." Whistler tapped his heel against the desktop and folded his arms across his chest. His eyes flicked back and forth between Adam and Ami, and he smiled in faint amusement. "You know, you two can sit down any time now. This might take a while. Besides, I'm going to get hell of a crick in my neck looking up at you."

"What do you want?" Ami asked from behind Adam. 

"It's not what I want. It's what you want." Whistler shook his head. Sliding the seat backwards, he pulled his feet off the desk and stood. "And you want answers. You want to know all about my boy Angel – who really is one of the good guys by the way – you want to know what you're doing here, you want to know about to me. Mostly you're terrified about what I know about you."

"What do you know about us?" Adam asked carefully.

"The Tomorrow People. The next step in human evolution." Whistler deposited the hat back on his head as he strolled around the desk. If he noticed the startled looks that Ami exchanged with Adam, or Ami's sharp intake of breath, he gave no indication. "I have to say, you bunch of kids make me think that there is some hope for mortals. Humans spend way too much time killing each other for religion or land or something even less significant – and you call us evil. Strange world, I've always thought that.

"Anyway," Whistler hopped up on the desk and folded his hands in his lap. "Tomorrow People. You teleport, you read minds, yadda yadda yadda. Did you ever stop to think that you kids would really make a great teen tv show? Ordinary teens with extraordinary powers. Better than that hormone angst ridden Dawson's Creek crap anyway—"

"How do you—"

"They told me." Whistler pointed at the ceiling. "Right before they told me that I had to get to LA and see what the fallen angel was up to."

"God told you?" Ami's voice was riddled with sarcasm and skepticism. If she had been wary of this man before, it had faded the moment he said the last words. "So, I guess that would make you a prophet?"

Whistler snorted with derisive laughter. "You give me way too much credit, little girl. Nothing of the sort. Although I guess some people do call it God, Allah, Buddha. Whatever you want to call it. Sort of the guiding force of the universe. I personally just think of them as The Powers That Be."

"The Powers That Be?"

Whistler moved his eyes from her to Adam. "Is she always this skeptical?" He paused, studying Adam for a moment. "Oh, I see. You don't believe me either."

Adam folded his arms across his chest. [He's delusional or --] Adam's telepathic voice trailed off, yet Ami knew the unfinished thought. He was either delusional or he was telling the truth. And either way wasn't a good thing when he knew about the Tomorrow People. 

"Trust me, I know where you're coming from. I didn't exactly believe it when They told me about you kids either. I mean, teleportation? This isn't the Sci-Fi Channel now is it?

"Guess what, kids? This is your wake up call. All that stuff that you thought was made up just to scare you as a kid – ghouls and goblins, vampires and witches and demons, it's all real. It's real and it's around us every single day. All those things that you think are only in horror movies or Stephen King novels really do exist. The powers of darkness trying to take over the world as we know it. It's happening now. And you two just landed right smack in the middle of it." Whistler paused, his eyes sliding past Adam to linger thoughtfully on her. "Or at least you did."

"What in the bloody hell are you talking about?" Fear was gone now, replaced by a growing frustration and annoyance. "You haven't said one thing that makes a word of sense since we entered this room. All you've done is talk in circles and cryptic riddles about good and evil and monsters and 'The Powers That Be,' and you expect us to just swallow it? You're delusional or you're mad or you're – you're –" She trailed off in mid-rant unable to find a word to finish the sentence. Or rather, afraid to finish the thought. Because if he wasn't mad and he wasn't delusional, he was telling the truth in his own bizarre way. A truth that was obviously far stranger than fiction.

"Or what?" The tone of Whistler's voice changed. It was soft, yet held a note of challenge that was almost menacing in its softness. "You can't even think of any other reason that a perfect stranger would show up and tell you these things, can you? And yet, you still can't open your eyes enough to embrace the truth?" 

"And what truth would that be?" Adam asked.

Whistler kept his eyes trained on her even as he slipped off the desk and answered the elder Tomorrow person's question. "They want you."

Something about his eyes, about the way he looked at her made every hair on her body stand on end, and she took an involuntary step backwards under the intensity of his gaze. It wasn't right. It wasn't natural.

He wasn't natural.

That was it. Reaching out tentatively to brush against his shields and his psychic aura, Ami instantly recoiled. Sharp, intense, passionate – akin to what she felt from Angel, but also so very, very different. Powerful and dynamic, a kaleidoscope of emotion and sensation like nothing she had ever seen before, made her snap her shields tightly in place, releasing a loud yelp. 

He stared at her and she knew that he knew what she had just done. 

Adam turned to her in concern, "Ami?"

"Oh, she'll be fine. Just a little startled. She took a peek," said the man – no, not a man – creature. "I warned you that you may not like what you see."

"You're not human," Ami breathed the words, feeling goose pimples rise all over her skin. "You're not human."

Whistler smirked. "Pretty and perceptive. Nice combination. You're right, I'm not human and I'm not going to deny it. But that's a moot point for now. The real point is that I'm here because of you. Because They think you're important and They sent me here."

"What are you?" Adam demanded.

"I'm supposed to help you help my boy Angel," Whistler ignored Adam's question. His attention was fully focused on Ami and now; it was as if the other Tomorrow Person had ceased to exist. Certainly, he was no longer anyone or anything of import in Whistler's way of thinking. The look in his eyes was one of deep knowledge and wisdom, and something about it terrified her. "Ami Jackson, you've been chosen, whether you like it or not."

"This is ridiculous," Ami stood behind Adam, clinging to his arm. She wanted to do nothing more than teleport away from this man-creature and this madness, but she remained firmly rooted to the spot. Because deep down inside of her, his words touched her. His words held the ring of truth that her inner voice could neither ignore nor deny.

"Is it? Why? Because life is full of choices and free-will? Nothing is predetermined?" Whistler asked, stepping closer. Adam insinuated himself between them, and the man-creature stopped, but his attention on Ami never wavered. "That maybe your Christian mythos, but this is the real world. A world haunted by darkness that you cannot even imagine in your worst nightmares. Nothing is totally free, and that goes for free-will as well. Some people walk around in their little bubbles of reality and think that, but that's just not the way it goes. Some thing's are meant to be and there's nothing that you or I or anybody else can do to change that. 

"And some people are chosen by Them to do what They want and they don't have a choice in that. You're one of those people. You may think that you came here of your own choice, but everything that has ever happened to you in your life has been planned by Them. To bring you here, to this point, to this now. They marked you the day you were born, and They will interfere with you until the day you die because that's how They work. 

"You can try to walk away if you want, but it won't work. In the end, you will do what They want willingly or you'll do it kicking and screaming. But you will do it. Or you'll die trying not to do it. And the way things are shaping up around here, you'll die a lot sooner rather than later."

There are moments which are defined as soul-truths. Those moments of insight when a person looks inside herself and sees all the truths as they are meant to be seen with no disguises, no decoration and no sugar coating. Moments of acknowledgment which are pivotal, forever changing a person's life, forever marking that place and time as a dividing point. A point where there is no longer a backwards, or even a fork in the road. A point where there is only forward.

As Whistler spoke, Ami reached that moment.

A memory, forgotten and buried until now came rushing back. 

Suddenly, she was nine again.

*****

This was to be their last trip to the islands, or so her mother said. Nana was dying. She knew that Nana had been sick -- the last time they visited the island, her Nana had not been well. But she refused "real medicine," as Ami's mother said, and now she was beyond help. 

Ami didn't want to be here. Her mother said that this was home, this was where she had been born, but Ami barely remembered this place. She barely remembered the open house with large windows where she had cried as a baby and toddled around. London was her home; had been her home since she was four -- which was for as long as she could remember. Ami didn't like this place, with its little altar and funny statues, she didn't like the feeling she had of always being watched. And she didn't like the way this place made her parents argue and fight even more.

"She's dying, Sherri. You should respect her wishes," her father spoke to her mother in hushed tones, acting like Ami couldn't hear him. They always did that before they started yelling at each other. The whispering as they darted furtive and secretive glances in her direction. She wished they would just yell and scream and get it over with. "She's your mother."

"I don't need you to tell me who she is," her mother snapped back. "But I won't listen to any of that voodoo nonsense that she calls religion. And I will not have her poisoning Ami's head with it. God only knows she did enough of that before we got off this god-forsaken island."

"Sherri, just this once. Even your sisters are --"

"Weak willed, Robert. That's what they are. That's what they've always been. You've never agreed with her religious beliefs, why start now . . ."

Ami walked away from them. She heard that argument too many times before. From the moment her mother had started packing their suitcases, for most of the plane ride. She knew how it would go -- her father would tell her mother she was wrong; her mother would stalk off muttering and wondering why her own father -- Ami's grandfather -- had ever allowed her grandmother to persuade him to move the family back to the island when Ami's mother was a teenager. 

She stopped walking a few paces from the 'dying room.' That's what she thought of it as. She didn't like going in there. She didn't like seeing the woman in the bed -- all dried up like a shriveled husk. That wasn't' the Nana from her memories. That wasn't the Nana from her pictures.

"Don't be afraid," one of her aunts stepped up beside her, taking her hand. "She wants to see you."

But Ami was afraid. Deathly afraid. Even walking with her aunt holding onto her hand, she didn't want to be in the dying room. The smell of the incense and the candles was nearly strong enough to make her sick and the feeling of death was everywhere. The dead were everywhere too. She saw glimpses of them out of the corners of her eyes -- nondescript shadows and images that would fade the moment she turned to look. Her mother said it was all her imagination, but it didn't feel like imagination.

"Little treasured one, come to me," her grandmother spoke in an odd dialect of French and English that Ami could barely understand. Her mother never spoke French -- well, hardly ever -- and Ami remembered little of it. 

She approached the bed reluctantly, but feeling that she had little choice in the matter. She was compelled by dark clear eyes that seemed out of place in the wrinkled and haggard face. "Hello, Nana." Her voice was a whisper.

Dry, parched hands reached out and took her smaller ones. Ami tried not to recoil from the touch. That would be rude. Still, she bit her lip nervously.

"The Loa brought you back to say good-bye. That is good of them."

Ami simply stared in confusion at the old, dying lady. She didn't know anyone named Loa. She would have to ask her mother about it later.

"You belong to them, little treasured one. You are theirs, they have simply allowed us to know you and love you. Your life will be different. You are touched and you are blessed. And so are we for having known you."

"Who's Loa?"

Her grandmother gave a soft, amused smile. "The spirits that are all around us. They are a part of everything. They watch over you because you bear their kiss. Someday, they will talk to you, and when they do you must listen. To be chosen by the Loa as an emissary is an honor. Never forget that."

"That's enough mother," Ami had not heard her mother enter the room. "She's just a child. And you need your rest."

"She's blessed, Sherri. I've told you before. And we are honored--"

Ami missed the rest of the conversation as she was swept out of the room, a violent coughing fit overtaking her grandmother.

That was the last time she had seen the woman alive.

*****

"Stop it, you're scaring her." Adam's words, and the comforting touch of his arm around her shoulder, pulled Ami from her memories. She realized that she was shivering, two solitary tears racing down her cheeks.

"She's only scared because she knows that I'm telling the truth," Whistler responded. "You can't protect her from this. You can't protect her from what she knows deep down inside."

[Ami?] Adam's voice was echoed by several others. They had all locked onto her emotional jarring.

[It's okay. I'll be fine,] Ami reassured her fellow Tomorrow People. Then to Adam alone, [I believe him, Adam. I can't explain why right now. But I believe him.]

Adam's dark eyes scrutinized her for a long moment. She could feel him wrestling with all the questions he had, all the explanations that he wanted that he had not yet received. She saw his worry and his reservations, and she knew that there was nothing she could say to alleviate either of them. 

"You still haven't told us anything," Adam said at last, turning to Whistler. "Anything useful or important."

"But I finally have your attention, don't I? And your belief?"

"You have Ami's."

"Hers is all I really need." Whistler turned and walked towards the office door. "Now, we need to pow-wow with Angel and the Watcher. I think we can put all the pieces of this puzzle together."

"What are you?" Ami asked unsteadily. "One of the Loa?"

Whistler gave a soft chuckle, "Better than a prophet. But still not quite. I'm a demon. And not one of your Christian mythos demons that is waiting to torture helpless souls in Christian hell. I happen to like your world the way it is, and would like to keep it as is."

"You're a good demon?" Ami nearly choked on the question, it sounded so totally absurd.

"Let's just say that I'm on your side," Whistler jerked the door open and motioned for them to follow him. "Come on now, I imagine that they're getting quite impatient downstairs."

"What about my dream?" Ami demanded. "You mentioned my dream."

"I don't know anything about your dreams, little girl." Whistler gave a shrug. "Lucky guess. They like to communicate through dreams. I guessed that I guessed right."

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: In vodoun (not 'voodoo') religion, the Loa are the immortal spirits of the ancestors or archetypal representations of the natural world and of moral principles, such as love, death, war, and the ocean. They are analogous to the Catholic saints or to angels in Christianity.

(source definition: [Voodoo Information Pages][2] http://www.arcana.com/voodoo/encyclopedia.)

* * *

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   [1]: mailto:shadows@alternate-realities.net
   [2]: http://www.arcana.com/voodoo/encyclopedia
   [3]: sl-auos11.html
   [4]: sl-auos13.html



	14. Chapter Thirteen

* * *

## A Union of Souls, Chapter Thirteen

by [Michele Mason Bumbarger][1]

* * *

Adam would have been lying if he said he was happy and comfortable with what was going on. He wasn't, and he didn't think that 'pow-wowing' with Angel and his friends was going to help matters or make things anymore understandable or acceptable. Whistler hadn't really told them anything; he hadn't cleared up any of the fog. As a matter of fact the demon -- and after daring to probe the being psychically, Adam did believe that he wasn't at all human or normal -- had only raised more questions than he had answered.

Then again, glancing at Ami as the freight elevator descended, Adam thought that maybe Whistler in all his crypticism had answered some of her questions. Questions that she clearly hadn't thought to ask aloud, and the answers were those that she wasn't ready to share. Something had happened upstairs in that office, only Adam didn't have the slightest clue of what that something was. 

He really didn't like being in the dark like this.

He was trusting Ami right now, trusting her reliable instincts, but that didn't mean that he was happy with it. He planned on keeping a close eye on this Whistler. He didn't plan on leaving 'Angel investigations' or Los Angeles until he had a few answers that he could be relatively happy with. And, most importantly, he wasn't going anywhere until he was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that Ami was safe.

The freight elevator reached the bottom floor and Whistler threw up the gate, loudly announcing their arrival. Four heads swiveled to look expectantly in their direction, their quiet conversation lulling. Adam took in the unpretentious and windowless surroundings, wondering why anyone would chose to live in the rather darkened environment. Still it was clean, immaculately clean for the 'typical bachelor' and decorated spartanly and eclectically. His eyes quickly skimmed a wall of swords and weapons and he looked away with a shiver. Something told him that those were more than decorations and display pieces.

The knowledge unsettled him. Why would a private investigator need those types of weapons?

"Ah, Ami, Adam, you're still with us, I see," the researcher, Giles, greeted them with a friendly nod of his head. "I trust that your conversation with Whistler was suitably enlightening?"

"Not exactly," Adam gave Whistler a hard look.

"As enlightened as I could get them," Whistler immediately objected. He looked around and then decided to settle into an occupied armchair. Tossing his hat on the coffee table, he tossed one leg over the arm of the chair. "I'm not going to do all of Angelus' work for him."

Angel glared at the demon -- if that was what he truly was -- Adam knew he wasn't human but he still wasn't prepared to go as far as calling him a demon. "What's that supposed to mean? And I hope you're comfortable."

"Quite, thanks," Whistler reached into his shirt pocket and produced a cigar. "It means that I told them what I think that they need to know. The rest is up to you."

"Do you speak English at all?" The question came from Cordelia who stood near the kitchen area with her arms folded across her chest. The brunette looked either bored or disgusted, Adam couldn't tell which. Maybe it was both. "Or is like cryptic part of your oh-so-cool routine? Because if it is, it needs a lot of work."

Whistler stared at her then turned his attention to Angel. "Is she always like this?"

"Only to people who dress badly," Angel answered. He looked to Adam and Ami, who still hovered nearest to the exit. "Come in, sit down. I'm guessing that we need to talk."

"You could say that," Adam hung back still and Ami followed suit. "Considering that we still don't know what's going on." As a matter of fact, Adam didn't know why they were still there. Except for Ami's dream and Ami's inexplicable and sudden trust of Whistler. 

"What exactly did you tell them?" The investigator's attention returned to Whistler who had just bitten the tip off of his cigar. "Don't dare spit that on the floor. There's a trash can in the kitchen."

The look that Whistler gave Angel could only be described as petulant. He spoke around the cigar bit, swinging his legs to the floor. "Just what they needed to know to trust you. And trust themselves."

"Cryptic. Cryptic," Cordelia sang out. She strolled into the living area, flouncing onto the sofa with overdone and overacted exasperation. "I swear, I don't know how he ever taught you anything, Angel. You can't even understand a word that he says."

"Perhaps we should start at the beginning," Giles removed his glasses, his attention on Adam and Ami. "Is it safe to presume that you came here tonight because you had an unusual experience? Something inexplicable or supernatural in nature?"

"No," Ami spoke up. "Nothing. I don't -- I had a dream and he was in it."

Adam looked at her in surprise. [Are you sure about this Ami?]

[There's something weird going on here, Adam, but it's not bad. They aren't going to hurt us. I don't know how I know that, but I do.]

"A dream?" Giles asked with obvious interest. "A dream that Angel was a part of?"

"Oh that figures," Doyle rolled his eyes, "They always dream about the dark, mysterious and broody ones. Never us normal, homely guys."

"A dream made you come here?" Angel asked. He looked a bit embarrassed to be the subject of Ami's dream, but he still plowed forward. "Just a dream?"

"No," Ami took a deep breath and crossed to the kitchen table. Adam followed her, curiously. [Trust me, Adam. This might be the only way to get to the bottom of this.] Indicating a kitchen chair, she looked to Angel, "May I?"

"Please."

Ami sat down and looked down at her hands. "My dreams -- they aren't completely normal. They're not normal at all. When I dream things -- they happen."

"Your dreams are prophetic?" Giles stared at her in complete amazement. 

"I suppose so. Usually. Sometimes though, they're just so -- symbolic that I can't make any sense of them, so I don't know if they come true or not." Ami wrung her hands, "I came here tonight hoping to figure out -- why I was dreaming about Angel. And it seemed like you were expecting me to show up." Ami directed the last at Angel, and held the slightest question.

"He was," Whistler remarked from the kitchen. He chewed on the cigar, but he had not lit it. 

Angel shot the demon a look, which the demon ignored.

"Look, Angel, you know that there's more going on here than meets the eye. Try trusting Them even if you won't trust me. Try trusting that good old fashioned internal instinct that has served you so well." Whistler paused, patting his pockets. "Besides, it won't be long till they figure it out anyway, but you probably all ready know that."

"Doyle has visions," Angel said after a moment of contemplation.

"What? Angel, man are you --" Doyle sputtered until Angel turned and leveled a dark stare in his direction.

"I know what I'm doing, Doyle." He looked back at the two Tomorrow People. "Doyle has visions of people in trouble. Not your usual kinds of trouble, but the more -- supernatural, evil kind of trouble."

"Visions?" Adam asked. This was getting too weird -- and too coincidental. 

Angel glanced at his co-worker again and the Irishman sighed heavily. "Yeah, I get visions from --" his pale eyes glanced towards the ceiling, "-- The Powers That Be, we'll call them. Not much mind you. A name, a face, an address. Then we swoop in and save the day."

"Angel swoops in, you mean," Cordelia said. "You usually get stuck with the cleanup. Or hide oh-so-bravely in a corner. As long as we're being honest -- for some really bizarre reason that no one informed me of -- we might as well be completely honest."

"I don't hide! Angel's just better at that fighting sort of thing than I am."

Doyle and Cordelia's behavior must have been a common thing because Angel ignored them easily enough. "Last night, Doyle had a vision about you. So, I went to meet you and see if you were in any trouble. But you weren't, were you?" His brow creased in confusion. "Something's not right, here."

"How about we're telling two complete and perfect strangers that Doyle is our personal crystal ball?"

"No," Angel shook his head. "Doyle's visions -- people are usually already in trouble by the time Doyle has his vision. But Ami isn't."

"I wouldn't say that per se," Giles interjected. "We do not know the nature of Ami's dream. It is entirely possible that she has been contacted by some demonic entity on another plane during her sleep cycle."

Adam felt Ami shudder. He remembered the dream that mind-merge brought forth, and if they were to take Whistler's words as truth, and certainly everyone else here seemed to, it had to be a possibility. Clearly one that neither he nor Ami liked. He rested his hands comfortingly on her shoulders. "That's rather morbid and --"

"Frightening," Ami finished Adam's thought and sentence. 

"But you believe it," Angel pointed out. 

"What makes you say that?"

"You're scared."

Ami simply stared at him. "What makes you think that I'm scared? Upset yes, but not scared."

"I smell it."

Adam gave a slight gasp. Enough was enough already.

Obviously Ami agreed. She said aloud what he only thought, "Enough is enough. Now I know he's not human, he claims to be a demon," Ami pointed a finger at Whistler who still chewed thoughtfully -- and silently -- on his cigar. "But you're not human either. So. What. Are. You?"

* * *

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   [1]: mailto:shadows@alternate-realities.net
   [2]: sl-auos12.html
   [3]: sl-auos14.html



	15. Chapter Fourteen

* * *

## A Union of Souls, Chapter Fourteen

by [Michele Mason Bumbarger][1]

* * *

The question so took Angel by surprise that for a moment he wasn't certain he had even heard her correctly. "Excuse me?"

"I said what are you?"

"He's Angel, he's--"

"Quiet, Doyle." Angel interrupted Doyle with a simple lifting of his finger. He pulled out a chair and sat down directly across from the coed. Ami had not stopped watching him the entire time, watching him as though she already knew the answer but was waiting for his confirmation. He held her gaze for a moment, aware that every eye in the room was focused on him, aware of the underlying tension. He could hear the increase in heart rates, could smell the adrenaline that began to pump through the others at Ami's question. Most of all, he could smell the underlying fear that he would tell her the truth.

Which, he realized, probably wasn't too far from reality.

Angel poised his question carefully. "What do you think I am, Ami?" 

Drusilla had known. The familiar energy coming from Ami and her friend told him -- told the demon -- that they were like Drusilla in some ways. Only they were also more than Drusilla; their energy patterns were stronger, more controlled. They were what Drusilla would have become if he hadn't made her like him. Drusilla had called him a demon, she had called him death. In her last hours, she likened him to Satan.

He wondered what Ami would see. What she would say. 

"I don't know, I only know that --" Her answer came by rote even as he actually felt her brush his mind with her own. Most people were not sensitive to a mental probing, and most people were not skilled enough to perform one. Even those who claimed to read minds couldn't have probed him with the quick and devastating accuracy that Ami did. The slight pressure withdrew as quickly as it arrived, the young woman drawing a sharp breath, her eyes going wide. 

Focusing on her and only her, Angel noted the increase in respiration, the elevated heart rate and the hormones that fear and surprise released into the blood stream. He knew that she had found her answer even before she said it.

"You're a vampire." It was not a question. She shook her head, closing her eyes briefly. "No, that's impossible. Vampires don't exist. It's just stories and legends."

"So are demons," Whistler called out from across the room. Angel almost turned to glare at the demon, but he saw the slight change that came over Ami as her eyes darted in Whistler's direction. She believed the demon; she knew what Whistler was and his words were the words that erased all her doubts.

"Okay, that was funny," Cordelia forced a laugh and clapped her hands together once. "Now, can we get back to reality here?"

"Cordelia, don't." Angel never took his attention from Ami. "It's all right."

"It's all right? Did I miss something here? I thought that the whole idea was that people didn't know that you're a vampire?"

"I don't understand," Ami said at last. She offered no preamble and no explanation. 

"It would take a long time to explain," Angel said softly. "Let's just say that Bram Stoker and Anne Rice don't exactly have it all right. I help people -- I work with Doyle because -- I'm looking for something. I haven't found it and I don't know if I ever will, but I'm looking for it."

"Seeking redemption," the young woman breathed softly, knowledge dawning in her dark eyes. Her friend stared at her curiously, and stared at him with more than a bit of disbelief and fear; but Angel felt no fear from Ami. It was as if his words had explained something; or perhaps having her world turned upside down as it had been she was just ready to take things in stride.

Besides, they still had her dream to contend with.

And her connection to Cordovan and the Book of Isiri. A connection that Angel was convinced existed, but that they hadn't yet found. 

Angel gave her a half-smile. "Seeking redemption."

For a moment neither of them spoke, a silent understanding passing between them. Whoever this young woman was, she was brought into this for a reason. Now it was simply a matter of finding out what that reason was. 

"Should we leave you two alone?" Whistler called from the kitchen.

Angel growled softly. Whistler was truly beginning to grate on his nerves. If he was here to be helpful, he was doing a poor job of it. He looked away from Ami and to Whistler. "Anything else you didn't tell them that we should know about?"

"I told you, I'm here to help. I'm not here to do all the work."

"So far, you haven't done any work," Doyle accused. 

"You brought up a good point, Angel," Giles approached the table and took the only remaining chair available. Angel was secretly grateful for the former Watcher. His academic mind could at times be one-track, and might lead them to the answers they were searching for. "Unless there is something to say otherwise in Ami's dream -- which we have yet to analyze -- Ami doesn't appear to be in any trouble. Yet, if what you've been telling me about Doyle's visions is true, she should be in great peril as we speak. Something is not adding up."

"There was a woman watching me," Ami spoke up after giving an unguarded glance to her friend. Angel had been watching their interaction and something about it seemed just a bit -- off. It was as if they understood one another without words; as if they shared the same mind. It was a little eerie. "On campus yesterday. And then tonight, I was at a party and she showed up again."

"Giselle." Whistler leaned forward on the counter. "I'd bet my good hat on it."

"You don't have a good hat," Doyle frowned. "And who's Giselle?"

"Exactly what I was wondering," Angel turned his full attention to the demon. "Something you're keeping from us?"

"Only until you needed to know it." Whistler shrugged. "I asked around, did a little digging. She's known as the 'Dark Witch' in circles where she's known at all. Cordovan's current lover -- and a mambo. Or she was a mambo. She's a little more than that now."

"She's a dance?" Cordelia asked in disbelief.

"No," Ami corrected her, it seemed that the response was automatic. "A mambo is a priestess of vodoun."

"Vo-dawn?"

"It's a religion, Cordelia," Giles said with a bit of exasperation. "Frequently known as voodoo."

"Oh, voodoo. Why didn't she just say that then?"

"Because voodoo is not its proper name. Voodoo is a derogatory name given to the religion by those who didn't understand it. It's used in Hollywood movies and the images that it conjures up -- such as evil magick and voodoo dolls and human sacrifice -- are not part of the religion of vodoun any more that those who follow Wicca worship the devil.

"However, there are those who once practiced the white magick of vodoun who find themselves drawn in by black magick and the darker forces." Giles stopped in his explanation and turned to look at the demon. "Are you saying that this woman, this Giselle is one of these? A bokor?"

"You got it."

"And she is involved with this man -- this Cordovan?"

"I don't like the sound of this," Angel looked up, his eyes meeting Giles'. "Black magick and the Book of Isiri. All at Cordovan's fingertips."

"Yeah, but what's the relationship with Ami?" Doyle asked.

"Excuse me?" Ami's friend, Adam interrupted their conversation. "Could you tell us what's going on here? Who is this Cordovan? And the Book of Isiri?"

A few minutes later, Ami and her friend had been brought up to speed on the true power hierarchy of Los Angeles and the missing spellbook. It was clear they remained skeptical -- but they didn't leave. If anything, Angel sensed their growing knowledge of events and what was happening was making them more and more wary.

Ami looked pointedly at Doyle. "And your vision told you that I was wrapped up in this somehow?"

"Oh, no, nothing that simple. It would be nice if my visions were that simple," Doyle replied. "My vision said that you're in trouble -- or that you're going to be in trouble."

"Well, you did see this Giselle person," Cordelia remarked. "Maybe she put a whammy on you or something."

"That could be it!" Giles sprang up from the table, hurrying across the room.

"What? I had a good idea?"

"No, but you reminded me of something I had forgotten with our new direction in conversation." The man picked up a small notebook and began flipping through it, piquing Angel's curiosity with his next words. "Remember that Wesley called with more information about the Book of Isiri, and specifically the spell of Enslavement while Whistler was speaking with our young guests.

"Once every thousand years, under certain conditions, proper moon placement and planetary alignment, etc. The Enslavement has the possibility of becoming more than a mere spell."

"More than a mere spell?" Doyle interjected. "It sounded bad enough as it was. Zombies running around LA. Makes me want to stay in doors for a year."

Cordelia smiled and batted her eyes at him, "You'd be doing us all a favor."

"The right soul, the proper vessel can give the Master a source of unlimited power that goes beyond the scope of the spell. What if this bokor, Giselle, is trying to find that source of ultimate power for the spell? What if . . . she's looking at Ami?" Giles paused, his attention on the young woman seated quietly at the kitchen table. He approached her cautiously, his words careful. "I do not mean to pry Ami, but I have good reason to believe that you may be psychic, or that you may possess some level of psychic ability. Do you? I only ask because it's important. There is a certain type of individual needed for the spell to work in the fashion that Giselle may be desiring."

Again, Angel noted the silent communication between Ami and Adam. She held the young man's gaze for a long moment, and the furrow in Adam's brow told Angel that he didn't want Ami to tell them anything. Angel's suspicion was confirmed when Ami glanced down at her hands and Adam spoke up.

"Let's say that we believe any of this," Adam chose his words carefully, "What does this spell do? What makes it so dangerous?"

Angel stared at Ami while Giles launched into an explanation of the spell of Enslavement. She never looked up from her hands, although she grew more and more pale with each of Giles words. He still hadn't figured out how she and Adam seemed to be so much on the same wavelength with one another -- and not knowing was driving him crazy. 

Even more curious were Ami's reactions to Giles' words. She was deathly afraid -- not of him, even knowing that he was a vampire -- but of this woman Giselle. He caught the first hints of fear when Giles began to speak, and the smell of fear that surrounded her was becoming stronger by the moment. 

"What did she do to you, Ami?" Angel spoke softly to Ami and Ami alone. He noticed that Giles stopped speaking the moment that he spoke, he felt all the attention in the room focus on him, but he was focused on Ami -- the central figure of Doyle's vision.

Her head rose slowly, tears glistening in her eyes. Her fear was very palatable now. Angel felt the demon strike and respond, and it was a bit of a challenge to fight the beast inside of him down. When she spoke, her voice quivered. "She was inside my head. It was the most horrible thing that has ever happened to me."

"Inside your head?" Giles asked quietly.

Slowly, haltingly, Ami began to tell them what happened to her at the party. When she finished an uncomfortable silence hung in the room.

It was Doyle who spoke first. "Sounds like some sort of hypnosis to me."

Giles nodded in agreement. "I was thinking the same thing. It's quite clear that she wanted to get to you, Ami. The only reason would be this spell. If she were testing you to see if you were the sort of vessel that she sought." Returning his glasses to his face, Giles flipped through a few pages and began to read, "A young soul, pure and full of light. A soul that no evil can touch, no death-blood may taint. Hands have never known a weapon, whether forged of steel or wood or stone and shall never wield such. A soul which knows the thoughts of all and sees into the hearts of men. A soul whose dreams call forth that which shall be and whose memories, ever strong tie to the past. A soul that moves like the gods, in the blinking of an eye is here no more. The ancient, god-sent ship is its mother's bosom, hidden beneath sand and sea --"

The suddenness with which Ami jumped to her feet surprised them all, including her friend Adam. He looked as pale and alarmed as she did; no, on second consideration, Angel realized that Ami was far more upset than Adam. She visibly trembled, her entire body racked with invisible sobs. 

"Ami?" Adam followed her to her feet, his voice full of concern as he reached for her.

He drew her into a hug, "I know. I know."

"This means something to the two of you, I take it?" Giles looked from one to the other. 

Adam nodded numbly. His mouth twisted in a grimace. Whatever he was about to say, he didn't like it. But Ami's reaction and the knowledge of Giselle made this a necessity. "That's --" He paused, giving a quick glance at Ami before continuing. "That describes us. I think you're right. Giselle wants Ami for her spell."

* * *

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   [1]: mailto:shadows@alternate-realities.net
   [2]: sl-auos13.html
   [3]: sl-auos15.html



	16. Chapter Fifteen

* * *

## A Union of Souls, Chapter Fifteen

by [Michele Mason Bumbarger][1]

* * *

Giselle Vasalle was ready. 

For years she had waited and planned for this. For years she searched for the Book of Isiri, tracking the careers and discoveries of archeologists and museum curators. She combed through art and science magazines, she taught herself to use a computer to 'surf the net' and visit newsgroups. She was a woman with a plan and had been since that fateful day when she learned through one of her many dream-visions of the existence of the Book. And surely the dark powers wished her to have possession of it, or else they would never have sent the visions. The visions only came to warn her or to grant her some great power and knowledge. They were never ambiguous . . . and they were always hauntingly accurate.

Twice now her visions had saved Derrick from the hands of that rogue vampire Angel. Not that he was any sort of threat to them, their security or their safety. He had tried once to breach the security of Kristoph Cordovan's fortress. He had failed miserably and he had never made an attempt since. Kristoph and Derrick worried about him, but Giselle never did. She simply looked forward to the day that he could be put on a leash and turned into a plaything -- just like the others would be.

Someday soon. Very, very soon.

Staring out of the large bay window at the city sprawled beneath her, the witch sipped her wine, a slow, devious smile turning up the corners of her mouth. Fate and destiny had delivered not only the Book of Isiri into her hands, but the girl who would allow the spell to be worked to its full potential as well. The abilities that woman-child possessed were even more remarkable than the sorcerers who penned the Book could have ever guessed. They spoke from speculation; they spoke and wrote from a time when men still believed that the gods walked the earth. They did not know the truth that she did: the girl was very, very real.

Years of waiting had not disappointed her. Giving herself to the dark powers was indeed worth it. Tomorrow night, she would reap all that she had sown.

"There you are, Witch," her lover's voice came from behind her. Giselle tilted her neck obligingly, allowing him to place a delicate kiss on the bare skin there. "I thought that you would be down in the chamber, making the final arrangements."

"The final arrangements have already been made. You have nothing to do but relax and wait."

"Is that so?" His fingers trailed lightly down her arms, another kiss landing where her neck joined her shoulders. She closed her eyes and sighed, one hand reaching back to coil through his hair. It was so easy to fool them -- it was always easy to fool them. She had been playacting for so long that sometimes she almost believed that she truly did enjoy sharing his bed. "I have heard that the subject you were targeting has gone for help -- in the form of Angel."

"He's not a threat to you, Kristoph, he never has been." Giselle sipped her wine, twisting away from him as one finger snaked beneath the strap of her dress. "And whom did you hear that from? Your sentries? The ones that I sent to keep an eye on that little splinter that you call Angel. He'll be occupied. No need to worry about him."

"And the girl? How do you plan on getting to her?" Kristoph strolled over to the bar, oblivious to the glare of disgust that she directed at his back. "I've told you several times, Giselle, I don't like to get my hands dirty. Or the hands of my employees. With that lady cop on his side all the time --"

"If anyone is less of a concern than one lone vampire who thinks that he's a modern day John Wayne, it's that police officer. She's never come close to pinning anything on you and she never will. Your people -- and your lawyers -- are just too good." She was smiling at him in adoration by the time he turned, a glass of bourbon in one hand. "And don't worry about one little college girl. When the time is right, she will come to us. I promise you that.

"Then all of LA shall be yours." As she said the words, she almost believed them herself. If she had been forced to choose any other vocation, it would have been acting. She could lie with the best of them. Giselle had spent years molding Kristoph, winding him around her finger and binding him to her whims -- he simply was so enamoured of her that he had never realized it. They never did; men had a weakness, even those with demon blood -- and that weakness was woman. A woman who could use her charms and her wiles was a woman to be reckoned with.

Tomorrow night, when the moon rose full in the sky, it would be the moment of reckoning. The spell of Enslavement would be cast, giving ultimate power -- but not to Kristoph. By the time he knew what happened -- it would already be too late. He would be subject to her whims and at her mercy. They all would.

It was what she had been waiting for. 

Returning to her side, he placed a kiss on her lips. "Then I shall put my faith in my beautiful Dark Witch. Shall we have dinner then?"

"Whatever you wish," Giselle whispered breathlessly. "I live only to serve you."

Her smile was one of genuine pleasure as she took his offered arm and they made their way to the waiting limousine. But it was not for the reason he believed.

It was because the arrogant fool took her at her word and his arrogance would be his undoing.

* * *

[Previous Part][2] | [Next Part][3]

   [1]: mailto:shadows@alternate-realities.net
   [2]: sl-auos14.html
   [3]: sl-auos16.html



	17. Chapter Sixteen

* * *

## A Union of Souls, Chapter Sixteen

by [Michele Mason Bumbarger][1]

* * *

The pieces of the puzzle had all fallen into place. Only one thing was missing – the date that the spell had to be performed. While Giles had set to work checking tome after tome, and placing call after call to Sunnydale and London, Doyle and Angel had settled themselves in front of the computer. That pursuit hadn't been long lasting, however. Ami, who had been strangely silent and detached after the discussion of Giselle, the Enslavement spell and her oddly cryptic dream, which even Giles could not seem to make sense of, moved into action. Obviously tired of watching Doyle and Angel pull up zero on their computer searches, she had offered to 'take a go at it.' 

Now she punched up link after link, scanning various occult sites and newsgroups with an expertise that none of them possessed. Angel could only think of one person who would have been better or more accurate, but Willow was in Sunnydale, and Giles had been unable to reach her or Buffy by telephone. 

But, of course, it was Homecoming.

Angel sat in his office, flipping through a dusty and fading tome. It was written in Gaelic, so naturally Giles had passed it off to him rather than attempt to translate. Not that Angel minded – it gave him something to do while he mulled over things.

He stood on common ground with Ami and Adam – they didn't believe in vampires, and demons and sorcery, and he was having a difficult time wrapping his mind around the truth of their existence. Or rather, he was having some difficulty accepting the psychic talents that they claimed to possess. Telepathy, teleportation – it was fascinating and it was frightening. And it guilted him to no end to think that the two young people in the outer office were the promise of humanity's future; he'd known one such woman like that in his lifetime. It had been her energy and power that drew him, that made him tease and taunt her to insanity before finally bestowing on her the gift of vampirism on the day she took her vows as a bride of God. 

Drusilla would have been like them if he had allowed it. If she had not met and charmed Angelus on one fateful night. Now, she was simply crazy as a loon, a psychotic vampire blessed with the gift of visions. And a terrible, unpredictable adversary to those who would dare cross her.

Angel forced thoughts and memories of Drusilla to the back of his mind. Now was not the time to dwell on the wrongs and atrocities of the past. The future was the important thing. The future of a young woman who claimed to be a powerful telepath and was the target of Cordovan's latest schemes and plans.

"You know, you really seem to have this isolationist thing down to a science." 

Looking up, Angel was unsurprised to see Whistler leaning in the doorway. He stared at the demon, saying nothing, knowing that Whistler had not said all that he intended to say in that one sentence.

The demon confirmed Angel's suspicions when he strolled into the office and taking the seat across from the vampire's desk made himself comfortable. He leaned back in the chair, arms folded across his chest, ankles propped on the desktop. "I thought part of your purpose here was to interact – get involved in their lives – reach out."

"It's a little crowded out there right now. I can work just as well in here." Sufficient explanation given, Angel returned his attention to the book.

"What? You don't have questions for me?"

The vampire answered without looking up from the book, "Are you going to answer them?"

"You can always try me. I'll certainly tell you what I can."

"That's new," Angel remarked sourly, flipping to the next page. The words didn't come into focus and he realized that the demon's words and presence had distracted him already. He lifted his head, studying Whistler for a moment before asking his question. "Did you know about them?"

He didn't have to say whom it was he referred to. From where he sat he could see Adam, engaged in conversation with Giles and throwing the occasional glance in Angel's direction. It was a bit unnerving; Angel couldn't shake the feeling that Adam was measuring him and sizing him up and that he was falling a little bit short of the mark. A small matter, and one that normally would not have bothered the vampire. Yet, it did. It gnawed at him, like a persistent but unreachable itch, as if his subconscious knew something he did not and that it knew it was vitally important for Angel to have Adam's acceptance and approval.

"I know what I'm told, which isn't always much." Whistler paused, mostly for emphasis unless Angel missed his guess. "I knew about them."

"You couldn't have told me last night? You could have saved a lot of trouble and confusion if I'd known the truth."

"It wasn't my place."

"Never stopped you before."

"It wasn't my place, Angelus." Angel flinched at the use of his other name, the one he used when he razed the world as a blood-thirsty, violent demon. Whistler only used the name to get under his skin, and it bothered Angel that it worked so well; that he reacted so predictably. "There were things that I couldn't tell you because it isn't all about you. It's about her too."

"Now you're talking in riddles again." Angel lowered his eyes to the book again.

"Trust, Angel. It was about trust. I could get you both together, but the trust had to come from somewhere else."

"I told her – them – what I am," Angel reminded the demon, "That should be enough for your ideas about trust."

"You're still not getting it. It isn't about you trusting her – it was about her trusting you."

Angel was prevented from answering the demon as Doyle's head peeked into the office, "You might want to get out here, Angel. Looks like the little lady found something."

Exchanging a glance with Whistler, who looked at him and shrugged in unfeigned confusion, Angel stood up from behind the desk. He followed on Doyle's heels back into the main office where all attention was riveted on Ami and Cordelia, who had joined her at the computer.

"What do we know?" Angel asked. He peripherally noted the surprised and questioning glances that both Ami and Adam threw in his direction and, replaying his words in his mind, he wondered precisely what he said wrong.

"Don't mind him, he's always abrupt. You get used to it," Cordelia tossed out by way of explanation.

"I'm not abrupt," Angel protested softly, a bit hurt by the brunette's words. Then, half a moment later, he sighed in exasperation, more than a bit annoyed by the fact that he had allowed Cordelia's words to get to him. 

"Ami has found a date for the Ritual," Giles explained as he adjusted his glasses, "Or at least, she is correlating it for us -- on that monstrous machine -- as we speak."

"Oh." The small, soft remark came from the young woman as she stared at the screen. She swallowed and pushed the chair back from the desk. "So, that's it."

Doyle lifted an eyebrow, "You gonna share with the rest of us, lass?"

"Yeah, what is all this?" Cordelia peered at the screen, wrinkling her nose in confusion. "It just looks like a bunch of dots and dates to me. I can't make sense of it at all."

"It's a star chart," Ami supplied, her eyes still focused on the computer screen. Angel wondered if he was the only one unnerved by the slight quiver in her voice. A quick glance around the office -- particularly in the direction of her friend Adam -- told him that he wasn't alone.

"Can you read it at all?" Giles inquired. "Tell us what it says?"

"Oh, I can read it," Ami raised her head, her eyes meeting those of the former Watcher. Angel could only think of one way to describe those eyes -- haunted. "I can read it perfectly well."

"Ami?" The prompting came from Adam. The young man made no attempt to hide his concern for her, moving quickly towards the desk.

"Tomorrow night," Ami pronounced. "Tomorrow night at ten o' clock."

"Eew, that's so not good."

For once, Angel actually agreed with Cordelia.

* * *

   [1]: mailto:shadows@alternate-realities.net



	18. Chapter Seventeen

* * *

## A Union of Souls, Chapter Seventeen

by [Michele Mason Bumbarger][1]

* * *

Ami watched the commotion around her, utterly amazed by the fact that strangers were going through so much trouble to protect her from an unseen, albeit deadly enemy. She was to stay at Angel's tonight, where the vampire and his friends could keep an eye on things and protect her if Giselle and Cordovan's forces came looking for her. 

The decision to remain here, and the battle to make it so, had been hard fought. Adam confided to her, telepathically, that he would feel better if she was at the Ship. Ami admitted that she too would feel better with the protection of the Spaceship. But there was no way to explain the Ship to their new allies, and even in light of everything that was going on and everything they had learned, they weren't ready to reveal the Ship or the island, or even the existence of additional Tomorrow People. That was yet another reason that Ami had opted to remain in Angel's basement apartment: the thought of drawing the others into this was one that she didn't want to contemplate for long. It was disturbing enough knowing that Giselle had been inside her head and quite possibly knew what Ami was. She didn't want to consider what would happen if the woman found out about the other Tomorrow People.

Looking around her, Ami tried her hardest to stay out of the way while Angel and Rupert worked to make the place secure. After learning that the name the man had been introduced under was a surname and not a first name, it became difficult for Ami to address him without tacking the "Mister" in front of his name. He had been the one to insist she call him "Rupert" and not "Mr. Giles," because under the current circumstances, "I really don't think there's any reason for such formality."

Watching them, it became quickly clear to her that the men – if a vampire could be called a man – worked together often and well. Even the Irishman pitched in after returning from making certain that Cordelia reached home safely. From the looks Angel had given the man upon his departure and return, Ami got the feeling that his interest in the secretary went a bit beyond simply seeing to her safety.

The only person – or creature – missing was Whistler. The demon said he was going fishing for more information and would be back in the morning. He had actually tried to slip out unnoticed, but Angel had cornered him. The two had spoken in low, agitated voices before the vampire allowed the demon to leave; Angel hadn't looked very happy to see him gone.

"You know, Angel, this would be so much simpler if you weren't a vampire," Doyle called out as he pulled a chain tightly through a grate that led to the sewers. 

"How's that?" Angel did not look away from the elaborate trip wire trap that he and Rupert were rigging across the freight elevator.

"The whole invitation thing. You wouldn't have to worry about Cordovan's vamps because they couldn't get in without an invitation. So, we wouldn't have to be locking this place down like it's Alcatraz." 

"It's not Cordovan's vampires that I'm worried about," Angel returned, the edge to his voice giving Ami chills. Chills enough that she decided not to ask what forces he *was* worried about.

"Invitation?" Adam looked up from helping Doyle wind the chain. "You mean, it's true?"

"What's true?" Doyle prompted.

"Well in Dracula, Lucy had to accept Dracula and invite him in," Ami supplied the answer, her eyes briefly flickering towards Angel and then back to the Irishman. "Vampires need an invitation?"

Looking from Ami to Adam, Doyle gave them a half-smile. "You two don't know a lot about vampires, do you?"

Ami sat on the sofa with a shrug. "Only what I've read in books."

"Fiction, fantasy," Angel quipped from where he stood listening. "What you read in books is about as real as the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy."

"Oh, go ahead then," Doyle remarked, "Burst her happy, safe bubble. Don't you know that people like to feel safe by building their own realities? Haven't you learned anything in two hundred years?"

"Yeah. Work alone."

"Ha ha, aren't you funny?" Doyle checked the chain by giving it a hard yank and stood. When he looked at Ami again, however, he was a study in seriousness. "As much as I would have found a better way of breaking it to you, Angel is right. The books don't really have all the facts."

"The books don't have most of the facts. They're the products of the imaginations of hack writers and Hollywood merchandising, full of half-truths and romanticism. There's nothing romantic about vampires," Angel entered the living area where they stood, his dark eyes darting to the grate, "Is that secure?"

"As secure as it's going to get," was Doyle's response. Angel gave him a worried look and Doyle hurried on, "Trust me, Angel, nothing is gettin' in that way."

"You're a vampire," Adam pointed out, following on the thread of Angel's comment. 

Angel met Adam's eyes and for a moment, Ami thought that he wasn't going to respond. When he did, his words were quiet, but somehow deadly. "Exactly my point."

"Oh come on," Doyle shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels. "I'll bet that you crossed paths with Anne Rice sometime. She had to model Louis after you -- all that angstin' and broodin' --" Ami couldn't see Angel's face as his head swung to look at the Irishman, but she imagined the look that he gave Doyle was not very friendly. The Irishman immediately held up his hands in defense, "I'll say no more. Bad topic."

"Um, gentlemen?" Rupert's voice came from the next room, "I could use a hand in here, please?"

The three men exchanged a glance and headed in that direction. Only Angel was detained, as Ami's hand tentatively reached out and tugged his shirt sleeve. He stopped, an unasked question in his eyes as he looked down at her. 

"Tell me about vampires, then," Ami spoke softly, not sure if she was treading on personal territory and asking a question that shouldn't be asked.

Angel visibly flinched, a flash of sorrow and pain darting across his face and coloring his handsome features. Whatever the stories had gotten wrong about vampires, they certainly hadn't lied about them being beautiful. Somehow, the deep sorrow she saw in the depths of his eyes made him all the more beautiful. 

And perhaps, all the more dangerous, a little voice cautioned her.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't--"

"No, that's fine," Angel nodded. He gave a glance around the corner, and evidently seeing that everything was under control, motioned towards the kitchen area. "I'm going to put on some tea. Do you drink tea?"

Ami nodded, trailing towards the kitchen table where she had been seated earlier when the entire night began to unravel. She watched Angel as he filled the tea kettle and set it to a low flame on the stove. 

"I'd offer you something else, but --" Angel leaned against the counter, folding his arms across his chest, "I don't have anything. I don't eat." He seemed to offer the last as both an apology and an explanation.

"Right," Ami rubbed her hands nervously on her pants legs. She felt briefly out of sorts with this man -- this vampire who appeared as normal and human as the next person. He wasn't what she expected for a vampire, but then again what did one expect in a vampire? If the books were wrong, what were vampires really like? "You--" she stopped abruptly, not willing to finish the thought she was having. At least not aloud. You bite, were the words that lurked in the back of her brain.

"Not humans," Angel said almost at once. 

"What?"

"You were going to say that I bite, or feed," Angel's eyes slid away from hers and again she saw the unmeasurable pain etched in his features. However, it faded and dulled a bit when he returned his gaze to hers. "I don't feed from humans. I haven't in --" This time, she actually felt the sharp bite of sorrow that radiated from him as he stumbled and swallowed, "I don't feed from humans."

"But you drink blood?" Ami felt her stomach clench as she said the words. It brought to mind images she would rather not have reflected on. For one moment, her mind taunted her with the picture of Angel, canines nearly the length of his chin, blood dripping from his face. She forcefully pushed the picture aside with a barely repressed shudder.

"Animal. Butcher shops. It's not that hard to find other sources," Angel said. 

"Do all vampires --"

"No," Angel cut off her question before she could fully phrase it. His tone became sharper, his eyes hard and cold. "Vampires are ruthless, predatory killers. Mortals are here for their pleasure and this world is their playground. Forget everything that you ever read in any book. It's wrong. There is no sweet seduction, no magic, no allure. A vampire would snap your neck in a minute and enjoy the sound of the bone cracking."

Ami stood so quickly, the chair scrapped loudly against the floor. The look in his eyes, the sound of his voice, cut her to the bone and she suddenly felt very, very afraid. "And I'm supposed to trust you?"

"I'm different."

"Because you feed from animals instead of humans, is that all?"

"No," Angel's voice softened, and he looked like the caged animal that she felt like. He took a breath and released it, "Because I have a soul."

"What?"

"Vampires don't have souls." 

Ami waited. Certainly he didn't expect to leave it at just that.

Looking away from her, Angel fixed his eyes on some point on the countertop. "When a person becomes a vampire, they die. Not just physically, but spiritually. The soul leaves the body. It's gone. In its place is a demon. A demon that has possession of all that person's memories and knowledge. A demon animating a body. No trace of humanity or anything resembling humanity is left."

"Why are you different?"

"I'm cursed." He lifted his head, a somewhat bitter half-grin on his face. "I was one of the most feared vampires in Europe, but then I crossed a tribe of Romany gypsies. I killed one of theirs and my punishment -- my punishment is a gypsy curse -- my soul. So that everyday, I have to live with the knowledge and guilt of every evil act I ever committed. And I do."

"So . . . " Ami paused trying to make sense of his words, "So, you're not a demon?"

"I'm both. There's a demon inside of me, but I have a soul too. It's a constant battle, a constant reminder of what I was -- and what I can be."

"You really are seeking redemption," Ami murmured under her breath, recalling their earlier conversation when she had demanded that he tell her what he was. She studied him for a heartbeat, sinking back into her chair before pressing on. "How will you know when you've found it?"

The question hung between them, vampire and telepath, while he appeared to consider it. The silence was broken by the whistling of the tea-kettle and it was only then that Angel nodded in her direction before turning his attention to the whistling kettle. His words drifted to ears, so softly she would spend the rest of the night wondering if he truly spoke them or if she was picking up his thoughts.

"I don't know if I ever will."

* * *

   [1]: mailto:shadows@alternate-realities.net



	19. Chapter Eighteen

* * *

## A Union of Souls, Chapter Eighteen

by [Michele Mason Bumbarger][1]

* * *

P> 

They had survived the night.

Angel found that less than comforting. 

He, Giles and Doyle had been up most of the night talking -- and waiting. They were waiting for anything. Waiting for the inevitable vampire army to descend upon them. Waiting to be hit with waves of inexplicable and powerful magick. But none of that had happened. Nothing at all had happened. Things were too calm for Angel to feel comforted or relaxed by it.

"The calm before the storm," Giles muttered over a cup of coffee that had not been prepared by Cordelia. He checked his watch for what had to be the tenth time in less than five minutes if Angel counted correctly. "If this -- Giselle -- intends on casting the spell tonight, they will have to move soon."

"Unless Ami isn't their target," Angel leaned against the file cabinet, taking a sip from his cup of coffee. Doyle looked questioningly at him, and he gave the Irishman a shrug. "I know, wishful thinking."

"Perhaps not." Setting his mug of coffee on the desktop, Giles leaned forward. "What precisely was your vision of Ami, Doyle? Can you give us anything specific, anything that might point us in the right direction? Or steer us away from the wrong one at the very least."

"I saw her. At Indigo Club. And I knew her name."

Giles frowned at him with obvious disappointment and disbelief. "That's all?"

Doyle shrugged. "I don't understand them, the visions. I just use what they give me. It's all I can do."

"You would think that if the Powers That Be put you here to help Angel, they could be a little less cryptic," Giles growled into his coffee. 

Doyle gave the man a lopsided grin, "Tell me about it."

Angel noticed Adam first. A part of him had registered the sounds of the young man's footsteps climbing the stairs, and had taken note of the peculiar energy signature that seemed to surround both he and Ami. He looked up expectantly as the young man entered the office. 

Adam paused before speaking, his dark eyes skipping from one individual to the next, but starting and stopping with Angel. "Whistler isn't back yet."

"You're a sharp kid," Doyle quipped. Angel tried to make eye contact and warn Doyle away from the banter, but the half-demon avoided his gaze. Angel couldn't help but feel that it was on purpose. "No, he's not back. And I wouldn't hold my breath expecting him back anytime soon. As far as he's concerned, he did his part and he's probably halfway to New York by now."

Angel shook his head. "He'll be back."

"I'm the one with the visions remember?"

"Yes, but Whistler knows more than he's telling us. He always holds a little back," Angel frowned, remembering how near to impossible it had been to get any information out of the demon when he had first encountered him. Whistler may have been on the side of good, but he had the most unusual ways of demonstrating these things.

"I was hoping that he'd found some more information," Adam explained.

"When he does, he'll be back," Angel promised the young man, "But don't count on him sharing it."

"How is Ami this morning, Adam?" Giles directed his words at the young man who still stood stiffly in the doorway.

"She's still asleep," Adam's eyes slid from his intense scrutiny of Angel long enough to acknowledge the older man before sliding back again. Shadows flickered in those dark eyes, shadows that Angel had a great deal of experience reading. He didn't trust Angel; he didn't truly trust any of them, but that lack of trust would probably be his saving grace. Those who trusted too much and too instinctively often got themselves killed in this world. As long as his mistrust didn't interfere when it came time to face down Cordovan and Giselle, Angel would allow him that mistrust. 

"She didn't really sleep well last night," Adam was continuing to speak, mostly to Giles and Doyle. He rubbed his neck, "She kept having bad dreams."

"Under the circumstances that's not surprising."

"You slept in that armchair by her bed all night, didn't you?" Doyle asked, his tone light and teasing. "I told you that you would get a stiff neck. Maybe next time you'll listen to me."

"I hope there isn't a next time." Adam responded simply, without mirth or bitterness. It was a simple statement of fact. One that Angel had to agree with.

The door swinging inward prevented anyone from responding to Adam's remark as all heads turned to see who the new arrival was.

Cordelia raised her eyebrows at the sight of the four of them staring, first anxiously, and then with mild disappointment in her direction. "Expecting someone else?"

Giles gave her an apologetic half-smile. "I'm sorry Cordelia, but I think we were all expecting -- or rather hoping for Whistler."

"So glad to disappoint you," Cordelia remarked. "I dress way better than that. I'm prettier too."

Doyle smiled, lifting his cup of coffee in her direction. "That you are, Princess. Especially this morning. I've always loved that color on you. It makes your eyes sparkle."

She blinked at him, then turned her eyes to Angel, practically pleading. "Will you get him under control already?" Then, looking around again, she tilted her head inquiringly. "Where is she?"

"She?"

With a flair and overdramatization that only Cordelia Chase could manage, she sighed in exasperation and rolled her eyes. "Ami. Remember the girl that was here last night so that she could be protected from the evil bo-ma-witch who wants to steal her soul? You know," Cordelia focused her attention on Adam, "your girlfriend."

Angel was surprised to see the young man pale, nearly choking where he stood.

"She's not my girlfriend."

"Whatever," Cordelia shrugged with a toss of her head. "Anyway, I brought her a change of clothes. I understand that, as men, you are more than willing to wear the same yucky, cruddy, smelly clothes for days on end, but women are more delicate than that. I even brought a portable mirror because some undead people who shall remain unnamed, don't believe in them."

Her words were greeted with silence. Looking from Doyle to Giles, Angel realized that they were as stunned as he by Cordelia's unforced and unsolicited thoughtfulness. Los Angeles really was changing her -- sometimes Angel didn't realize quite how much.

"She's downstairs, still," Adam spoke up, breaking the silence. "She was sleeping when I left her."

The look which Cordelia gave the young man was only a few steps below patronizing. "She's not your girlfriend? Right." Then, spinning on her heel, she headed towards the freight elevator, her heels clicking loudly on the tiled floor.

Adam stared after her for a moment, then turned his attention to the others in the office. "She's--"

"Quite the character, our dear Cordelia," Doyle nodded enthusiastically, his face taking on that sickening sweet dream smile that it often did when he was falling into one of his moments of Cordelia worship. "That's why we keep her around."

"Well," Angel stared at Doyle over the rim of his coffee mug, "It's certainly not for the typing or the filing."

"Or the coffee," Giles added.

They passed the next few minutes in a comfortable silence, each lost in his own thoughts. It was Doyle who finally spoke up, breaking the spell. "So, what's the plan?"

"We keep an eye out," Angel put his empty coffee cup aside. "If they're going to strike they're going to strike soon. We need to be ready."

"Why do I get the feeling I'm going to ruin another good shirt?"

"Doyle, you don't have any good shirts."

Doyle opened his mouth to respond, but his words were cut off by the loud shrieking coming from the downstairs apartment. 

"Angel!" There was no mistaking Cordelia's panicked cry.

After a quick exchange of glances, the four men were on their feet, racing down the stairs as quickly as their legs could carry them. Angel felt the demon stir deep within, his body tensing in preparation for a fight.

"Cordelia?"

"What's wrong?"

The starlet met them at the foot of the stairs, her earlier indifference and nonchalance replaced with worry and a strong fear that Angel could smell. "She's gone. Ami's gone."

* * *

   [1]: mailto:shadows@alternate-realities.net



	20. Chapter Nineteen

* * *

## A Union of Souls, Chapter Nineteen

by [Michele Mason Bumbarger][1]

* * *

There was no evidence of breaking and entering. There was no evidence of anything at all. Aside from the unmade bed, it would appear to the casual observer that a young college coed named Ami Jackson had never been in the apartment. It appeared as though she had vanished into thin air. Which, Angel realized as his attention fell on Adam, might not have been so very far from the truth.

While Giles muttered with Doyle, checking and rechecking solidly locked doors and grates, the vampire approached the young man. He kept his voice low and quiet, but firm. "You know where she is, don't you?"

Adam shook his head. He hesitated a moment before answering the question. "No, I don't."

"I know you don't trust me, and I can't blame you for that. But I can't help her if you won't be honest with me. Where is she?"

"I am being honest," something flashed in the Australian's eyes, a spark of anger mixed with something else that Angel couldn't quite identify. Worry or perhaps embarrassment. Maybe a little bit of both. He shifted, his attention focused on the far wall and for one long and unsettling moment Angel received the distinct impression that somehow the young man was not in the same room with him. The moment passed as quickly as it occurred, however, and Adam looked at him again, releasing a heavy sigh. "I don't know where she is. But I know how she left -- and so do you."

Angel blinked, ready to argue with Adam when the truth of the mortal's words sank in. Ami had told them things -- things that it had been clear that Adam hadn't wanted to reveal -- and while his mind had packed them away for later scrutiny, he hadn't forgotten them entirely. "You're telling me that she -- teleported -- out of here."

"You still don't believe us." Adam shook his head and raked his hands through his hair. "You're a vampire, we're worried about a witch who casts black magick spells and you don't believe we can teleport." He spoke the words with a silent challenge in his eyes.

"Point," Angel said softly. "Why would she leave?"

"If I knew that, I would probably know where she is."

"Have you two found something?" Giles approached the two of them, a hopeful note in his voice. 

Angel took a very unnecessary breath and released it. "Not really. Except that Ami left of her own free will."

"I didn't say that," Adam objected. "She wouldn't. She was scared. She wanted to stay here. She didn't have a choice in leaving, I'm pretty sure about that."

"Then you wouldn't mind sharin' with us how she got out of a couple of locked doors?" Doyle asked.

Adam's eyes met Angel's, although he said nothing. The vampire could see the dilemma on the young man's face, could read the questions in his eyes and yet he remained impassive. If Adam didn't want to remind Giles and Doyle about the special skill that Ami claimed the both of them possessed, Angel would -- but he would allow Adam to make that decision first. He simply hoped that Adam realized that every moment wasted was a moment that Ami was slipping through their fingers -- and closer to Giselle.

The former Watcher snapped his fingers. "Giselle."

"Giles?" Angel turned inquisitively to the man, knowing that the full explanation had not yet been given.

Unfortunately, Doyle lacked Angel's patience, and understanding, of Rupert Giles. "You think that Giselle got in here and we never noticed?"

"Maybe it was Whistler," Cordelia chimed in, "He's not back. And I never trusted him."

"No, no, no!" Giles held up his hands in frustration, and looked from one face to another until he was certain that he had everyone's attention. "Think back to last night, everyone. Do you remember what we discussed? Do you remember what had Ami so intensely upset -- aside from her dream about Angel."

"Giselle," Adam whispered.

"Yes, Giselle. What did she say? Giselle was in her head. We all agreed that it sounded like some form of hypnosis, and there is a very good possibility that that is precisely what Ami experienced. Giselle managed to plant a post-hypnotic suggestion inside Ami's head, and when the time was right, she activated it."

Cordelia shivered. "Is that really possible?"

Giles removed his glasses, nodding his agreement. "After living on the Hellmouth, Cordelia, I would say that we should believe that anything is possible."

"So, let me get this straight," Doyle interrupted, "Giselle hypnotized Ami. So while we were upstairs havin' coffee, Ami was forced to leave. That still doesn't explain why all the doors are still locked. That's a little bit too creepy even for me, and I've seen my share of creepy."

Giles removed his glasses, his focus narrowing to Adam. He studied the young man for a long moment, his voice thoughtful when he finally spoke. "She teleported, didn't she Adam?"

"Tele-" Doyle began.

"Yes, she teleported," Adam cut Doyle off with a nod, his words so quiet that Angel thought for a moment that he was the only one who heard the words of affirmation. However, a quick glance at Doyle and Cordelia, who stared at Adam as though he had sprouted a second head, told him that they had heard it as well.

Giles nodded, tapping the arm of his glasses against his lip. "It makes sense. You're teleporters, and Giselle knows it. Therefore, we have to assume that it would have been a simple enough matter for a hypnotic suggestion to have been planted that would cause Ami to teleport when she was alone. 

"And at least we know she's only been gone a short time."

"Doesn't matter," Adam shoved his hands in his pockets, his brow furrowing. Angel caught the faintest scent of fear coming from the young man. It wasn't strong, not yet, but there was no doubt that Adam was afraid -- afraid for Ami. "Teleportation is instantaneous." 

"But we know that the spell can't be cast until nightfall," Angel reminded him, "That gives us some time."

"Wait a second." Cordelia held up a hand, attracting their attention. "You really don't mean to tell me that you believe that they can really teleport or something? Come on, this is not Star Trek."

"No, but having lived in Sunnydale, you've certainly seen things stranger," Giles pointed out. "You saw for yourself the evidence of telepathy when Buffy had her brief dalliance."

"But that was different. That was Sunnydale. That was right up there with the Mayor turning into a giant demon thingy at graduation --" Cordelia stopped suddenly and drew a sharp breath. Abruptly, she turned to Angel. "Okay, so she teleported right into the belly of the beast. Go do your mysterious rescue thing that you do so well."

"I was planning on it," Angel replied.

"Wait, Angel man," Doyle intercepted his path as he headed for his weapons. "We've had this conversation already. You can't just go barging into Cordovan's fortress. He's got vampire armies and God only knows what else guarding that place. You have to go prepared or its suicide."

"You have a better idea?"

"Yeah," Doyle nodded and squared his shoulders. "Floor plans. We get the layout of the place. Call in some favors, find out everything we can about that place. Then we go in with guns blazing."

"We?"

"Um, Doyle, Angel is good at this," Cordelia said pointedly, "You'll just get your ass kicked."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Princess."

"Whatever the plan, we need to do it quickly," Giles returned his glasses to his face. "Every minute counts so we had better get started." 

Angel turned towards the stairs, his eyes falling on Adam who had fallen silent during their discussion. Again, he had that distant look on his face, the one that made Angel think that he was only physically in the same room. However, almost as if feeling the vampire's eyes on him, he looked up, his dark eyes shadowed with worry and a fear so strong that Angel could smell it. 

He nodded to Adam, his words a promise. "We'll find her, and we'll bring her back."

* * *

   [1]: mailto:shadows@alternate-realities.net



	21. Chapter Twenty

* * *

## A Union of Souls, Chapter Twenty

by [Michele Mason Bumbarger][1]

* * *

Every now and then, Rupert Giles would glance up from his preparations and stare in amazement at Cordelia Chase. He would then blink his eyes to see if the illusion vanished, only to have it remain firmly and solidly where it was. It was remarkable. The girl that he had come to know as a whining, self-absorbed fashion plate and debutante was actually useful. Not simply helping with the research type of useful; but truly useful enough to be an asset to Angel and Doyle. The chips were down, to quote an American colloquialism, and Cordelia jumped in to do her part more readily than she ever had in Sunnydale.

"I'm not saying it isn't convenient," Cordelia protested as she and Adam spread a set of 'borrowed' city blue prints across Angel's kitchen table. "It was just -- weird." She looked up, her eyes focused on the Australian. "Of course, it could come in handy for all those big one-day Christmas sales."

With a faint smile, Rupert shook his head. Helpful or no, it was comforting to see that on some level she was still Cordelia Chase, cheerleader and May Queen. 

For the first time since their preparations had begun, a half-smile touched Adam's lips. "That's not the first time I've heard that sentiment."

"Well, do you realize how much shopping can be done if you can do that little teleporty trick? My God, the number of shoes alone --" 

"Cordelia," Rupert interjected as he approached to look at the blueprints. "Why don't you focus a bit more attention on those blueprints than on the prospects of supporting the capitalist society single-handedly by teleporting to every Neiman-Marcus from here to New York."

She stared at him as though he had just spoken a foreign language, and he realized too late that perhaps he had. "Read one of these? You've got to be kidding. I think that Angel must navigate by sense of smell, because these things are unreadable." She paused, placing a paperweight on a corner that continued to curl up. "Besides, I did my part. I played dumb-girlfriend while Adam beamed himself to wherever to get them. I even got groped by the ugliest security guard I've ever seen. And then he had the nerve to ask for my phone number." Cordelia shuddered, her revulsion with the prospect completely apparent.

"I can read 'em," Doyle informed them, crossing to the table. He checked and re-checked the crossbow he was carrying, before setting it gently on the countertop. His blue eyes moved across the blueprints, and after a moment he looked up, his eyes going directly to Angel. "I can get us there. Luckily it's going to be after sunset, or you might find yourself gettin' a bit of a tan. Looks like our boy has sealed off most of the utility and sewer tunnels near his estate. We'll get inside the gates, but that's about all."

The vampire nodded, stretching his arms to his sides. Rupert blinked in surprise as a stake shot from the sleeve of each arm and then retracted. "I'd expected as much."

"That's quite an impressive -- contraption -- you have there, Angel."

"Thank you." Angel looked up, his face clearly uncomfortable, and averted his eyes quickly. "I made it. It comes in handy."

"Handy! I'll say!" Cordelia piped up, "You should see him use that thing. Two vamps for the price of one."

"You're taking a lot of weapons," Adam noted quietly. Turning, Rupert noticed the young man's eyes moving guardedly from Angel to Doyle and finally to rest on the crossbow that Rupert himself was fiddling with. 

Doyle looked away from the blueprints, "Well, this isn't exactly a trip to Disneyland, Adam. We want to get your girlfriend back, we have to go in there with both guns blazing."

"If I understand what Angel, Doyle and Cordelia have explained to us," Rupert lowered the crossbow, focusing his full attention on Adam, "This won't be easy at all. We shall be going up against a security force of vampires and demons, all of whom will be doing everything in their power to see to it that we not become a threat. They won't be open for negotiations, Adam."

"It just seems -- strong. Like overkill." 

Doyle chuckled. "Well, let's hope it's overkill. It means we'll get our arses out in one piece."

To say that the look Adam threw the Irishman was one of disgust and abject horror would have been a mild understatement. "Doesn't it bother you? Killing?"

"It's not like they're killing real people or anything. I mean they're just demons and vampires." Cordelia paused, paled slightly and gave a quick glance at Angel and Doyle. "Well, they're just evil demons and vampires. Not like Angel and Doyle. They're on our side."

Adam's jaw almost dropped. He blinked at Doyle. "You're a -- a demon?"

The half-demon glared at the back of Cordelia's head. "Half. My mother was human."

"Anyway," Cordelia gave a dismissive flick of her wrist, "It doesn't matter. They're going in there to rescue Ami and kill all the evil things that interfere with them. And it's not that bad really. Vampires just kind of turn into nice little piles of dust."

Adam stared at her for a moment, then his eyes wandered the room again, revulsion and disgust apparent each time he saw a weapon of some sort. "There should be a better way. I should just be able to teleport in there and get her out."

"But you can't." Angel dropped a duffel bag on the floor in front of Rupert. "You said you can't sense her." To the former Watcher he added, "I've put the Kelsior in there."

"A little magick in our arsenal certainly can't hurt," Rupert nodded, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. He folded his arms and leaned against the back of the arm chair, his mind replaying what he knew about Adam and Ami, either implied or inferred. "You can't kill."

"Well," Doyle said, "I don't like killin' but--"

"No, Doyle, you misunderstand my words. No death-blood may taint," Rupert quoted the rough translation from the Enslavement spell, "Adam -- and Ami -- can not kill. Something inherent in their make-up, the same something that gives them their unbelievable powers, takes away the ability to destroy life. Am I correct?"

Adam did or said nothing for a moment. Then, slowly he nodded. "How did you--"

"The description from the Enslavement spell. Also, the fact that if you are truly as telepathic and empathic as you and Ami have intimated, then I imagine the simple act of killing alone, the emotional and psychic energies that would be released, would be overwhelming."

"So, you can't kill." Angel clipped out the words. "Then you definitely are not coming with us."

Rupert watched a flash of anger flicker in Adam's eyes. "Ami's my friend. I'm going to be there when we find her."

"Be there and what?" Angel challenged. "Get yourself killed? I can't save your friend and watch *your* back. At least I know that Giles and Doyle can take care of themselves. I won't have your blood on my hands."

"I can take care of myself. Just because I don't need to hold a weapon in my hand to do it, doesn't mean I can't."

"You've never seen a vampire. You've never seen a demon. You have no idea what we're going up against."

"I'm staring at a vampire right now."

"Adam," Rupert touched the young man's arm, drawing his attention. "Yes, Angel is a vampire, true. But he is the exception and not the rule."

"And I've seen Angel pissed off," Cordelia added, "You so do not want to go there. When he vamps out, it is not pretty." She ignored the dark look that Angel tossed in her direction, her face softening as she watched Adam. "I know you're worried. You have to be. Trust me, I grew up in Sunnydale and the minute I started hanging around with that lot of losers, worry became a fact of life. Like, every day was 'Gee, is this the day that some evil demon finally kills me?' Which is really bad, because worry causes wrinkles. And the one thing an actress does not need is crow's feet. I mean, have you ever seen those things?"

"Cordelia," three voices chimed in at once.

"What?" The brunette looked at them and then turned back to Adam with a shake of her head. "All I'm trying to say -- before I'm rudely interrupted again -- is that Angel knows what he's doing. He's been doing this a long time and if anyone can rescue Ami, and stop that witchy person from swallowing her soul or whatever, it's going to be him. You just have to trust him.

"He's always come through for me."

Rupert stared in amazement. Cordelia enthusiastically helping was unexpected; Cordelia heaping sincere praise and trust upon the vampire who had once lost his soul and tried to kill them all, was something that he thought would only be heralded along with the second coming of Christ. Miracles truly never ceased.

"I can't just stand by and do nothing," Adam protested.

Rupert Giles sighed. He could only see one way out of this dilemma. They were running out of time and they couldn't waste minutes arguing with Adam. "Adam, I'm sorry."

The Australian turned to him, curiosity shining in his eyes. "About what?"

Former Watcher and mild-mannered librarian never answered him. At least not in the vocal sense of the word. Instead, Adam's answer came in the form of a right-hook connecting squarely with his jaw, snapping his head back and rendering him immediately unconscious. Rupert was simply grateful for the quick reflexes of Angel and Doyle, as they caught the boy before he hit the floor.

Rupert rubbed his knuckles. He hadn't punched anyone in a while. "About that."

"Giles. You punched him!" Cordelia squeaked.

"Yes, Cordelia, I did." He nodded to Angel and Doyle who were arranging Adam's body on the couch. "And I think we need to be gone before he --"

His words froze in his throat as a pocket of empty air began to coalesce into a human form. With a flash of light, and a loud crackle that sounded like a bulb blowing magnified, where there had once been empty air, a red haired young man suddenly stood, staring around in worry and confusion.

"Wakes up," Rupert finished wondering why he was quite unsurprised to see another teleporter appear. He idly wondered how many of them there were.

"How many of you are there?" Doyle asked the question aloud.

The redhead ignored them all, his attention falling on Adam. "What happened to him?"

"Time." Rupert met Angel's eyes, and held up his watch.

The vampire nodded, turning towards the sewer grate in the floor. "Cordelia, explain. We have to leave. Now."

"Who are you people? And what happened to Adam?" The unidentified redhead was demanding as they filed into the sewers.

"Right hook," was the last thing Rupert Giles heard.

* * *

   [1]: mailto:shadows@alternate-realities.net



	22. Chapter Twenty-one

* * *

## A Union of Souls, Chapter Twenty-One

by [Michele Mason Bumbarger][1]

* * *

Megabyte Damon had spent the last twenty-four hours alternating between wearing a path in the carpet of his bedroom and the floor of the Spaceship. Several times he had been tempted to teleport over to LA, never mind what Adam said, but each time he had not done so because he knew that he had to trust Adam on this one. The eldest of the Tomorrow People wasn't one hundred percent clear on what was happening in Los Angeles, but he was one hundred percent clear on the fact that he didn't completely trust Ami's new 'allies.' 

He hadn't truly gotten fed up and annoyed with the situation until Adam revealed that Ami was missing. Their fellow Tomorrow Person had been under a hypnotic spell of some sort and simply teleported away. Even a mind-merge with all of the Tomorrow People at the Ship had not revealed her whereabouts. None of them liked it, not one little bit. So, they kept trying, even though they had all begun to expect that it was a lost cause.

A sudden flash of shock and surprise from Adam, followed by his lapse into unconsciousness was the last straw. Megabyte ordered Kevin and Jade to stay away from LA -- and was pleasantly surprised when they put up very little fuss -- and headed to the last place where he had sensed Adam awake and well.

He materialized in a dark and somber apartment occupied by five people. Four of them were awake; the fifth was Adam, who was reclined on the couch. They each stared at him, although he peripherally noticed that their surprise faded rather quickly. He didn't really care at that moment -- even as he realized he could have just placed himself and the Tomorrow People in greater danger -- he was concerned about Adam.

"Wakes up," said the man with glasses, who spoke with a clipped and precise British accent. He picked up the duffel bag at his feet and was carrying a crossbow on his back. 

Crossbow? Megabyte filed the thought for later examination.

"How many of you are there?" The question came from a short, dark-haired man with an Irish accent. 

Megabyte approached the couch and Adam. He'd try to figure out later why these people not only lacked surprise at his sudden appearance, but why they appeared not to care to question him at all. 

"What happened to him?" He asked sharply.

"Time," said the Englishman.

"Cordelia, explain. We have to leave now."

"Who are you people?" Megabyte demanded, waving a hand around the room. "And what happened to Adam?"

"Right hook," explained the last of the quartet, a brunette that Megabyte probably would have found attractive under any other circumstances.

"What?"

The sound of a grate in the floor slamming closed with a loud click caused him to jump and look around. His brain quickly supplied the details that he had only observed in the periphery. The three well-armed men had disappeared down that grate.

"Right hook," the brunette repeated, turning towards the small kitchenette. "Giles decked him a good one so that he would stop trying to play all macho hero when he can't even kill a deer. You want some coffee or something?"

"No, I don't want any coffee," Megabyte snapped. "I want to know who you are, why my friend was 'decked a good one' and what the hell is going on!"

The brunette turned from reaching into an overhead cupboard, bringing a tin of coffee with her. She rolled her eyes in exasperation and began preparing a pot of coffee despite his refusal, "Will you relax all ready? He'll be perfectly fine when he wakes up. Well, he'll probably have an ugly bruise, but at least he'll be alive. Which he so would not have been if he'd gone to Cordovan's with Angel." 

Angel. That name again. The man that Ami had been dreaming about; the man that she and Adam had come to see. The private investigator. "Where is he?"

"Cordovan?" The girl added water to the coffeepot. "He's got this great mansion over in Hollywood Hills -- well, at least that's what I hear. I've never been there myself."

"Angel."

She looked up at him, the look on her face implying that she thought he was the biggest moron to ever walk the planet. "Haven't you been listening to a word I've said? Angel and Giles and Doyle went to Cordovan's to rescue your friend Ami before she gets her soul swallowed by some evil voodoo-magic-witch-craft-spell-thingy. Giles had to go all Van Dame on your cute Australian friend there because he actually wanted to go with them when a vampire would have probably taken him out in ten seconds tops."

"A vam--" Megabyte shook his head, trying to make sense of the girl's words and failing miserably. He wondered if she even spoke English at all or if maybe *he* had also been unconscious and missed part of the conversation.

"Oh, let me guess. You have Star Wars force-like powers and then some, but you can't even take a minute to consider that maybe all that weird stuff in horror movies is real?" She rolled her eyes and shook her head, "I swear, some people don't believe in anything unless it hits them right over the head."

Megabyte opened his mouth, ready to attempt to pull answers from the young woman again, when a low moan from Adam drew his attention. Adam's mental awareness tickled some distant corner of his mind, and he knew that his friend was waking up.

"Adam?" Megabyte knelt by the sofa, helping to steady the older Tomorrow Person as he sat up, rubbing his left jaw.

"Megabyte -- what are you doing here?" He paused, wincing as though talking actually hurt and continued rubbing his jaw. "And what's going on? Did we get attacked?"

"Well, you did. Sort of." The brunette descended on them, lowering herself gracefully to the arm of the sofa. She leaned over, all but ignoring Megabyte while pressing an icepack to the side of Adam's face. He jumped, startled, but then accepted the icepack from her with no questions asked. "You were being really stupid-macho-guy and Giles had to go Ripper on you. That is so going to be an ugly bruise."

The look on Adam's face told Megabyte that his friend evidently didn't understand the young brunette that well either. He looked to Megabyte, "Do you want to tell me what's going on and why you're here?"

"He teleported in after Giles decked you," the young woman explained. "You know, it was really weird because I don't really think he surprised any of us. I mean, I guess if you've seen it once, you've seen it a million times and it just loses its novelty. Especially after living on the Hellmouth. And working for a vampire. Of course, that does remind me of Doyle's question." She paused, fixing her eyes totally on Adam and pretending like Megabyte didn't even exist. "How many of you are there?"

"A few," Adam answered guardedly, holding the icepack to his face. "Megabyte I told you to stay -- behind."

"Yeah, like that was going happen. First Ami goes missing and then you're unconscious--"

"Megabyte?" The brunette chirped in. "Is that, like, your name?"

Megabyte had to admit, he was beginning to get annoyed with her. She was pretty and shapely and a real looker, but if she didn't stop talking soon, *he* might just deck *her.* "Yes, that's my name."

"Oh sorry," Adam apologized, and indicated the brunette with a wave of his hand. "Cordelia, Megabyte. Megabyte, Cordelia. Now, will one of you tell me -- coherently please -- what happened while I was -- out of it?"

Megabyte opened his mouth to speak and was less than surprised when Cordelia -- and she laughed about his name being Megabyte? -- spoke up first.

"Giles punched you."

"I got that part."

"It's not his fault you know. You were the one trying to be all superhero," Cordelia folded her arms across her chest. "They had to do something to stop you from going and becoming a vamp soup du jour. Or worse. I think that you're lucky that no one had time to load a tranq gun or you would still be sleeping like a baby. Giles and Angel take protecting the asses of the innocent very seriously."

"How long have they been gone?" Adam held up his hand to forestall any questions that Megabyte had -- and he had a lot of them. [Believe it or not, Megabyte, I actually understand what she's saying.]

[You mean she's always like this?]

[She has been since I met her.]

Cordelia shrugged, her dark eyes darting to the clock on the far wall. "You weren't really out of it that long. Five, maybe ten minutes, tops." Her eyes widened and shot back to Adam, where they narrowed to dangerous slits. "And don't you even think about trying to follow them. They know what they are doing. You probably can't even squish a fly and you would only get in the way."

Then to Megabyte's complete and total surprise, the young woman's demeanor went through a one hundred and eighty-degree change, her face and eyes softening completely as she leaned over and placed her hand on Adam's arm. "I told you, Angel knows what he's doing. This is like his calling in life to make up for all the evil and horrible things he did when he was -- a soulless, evil, bad vampire."

Of course, she was still talking about vampires which was beginning to give him a serious case of the creeps. Either someone here was delusional or he had just stepped into the Twilight Zone(TM) -- or maybe both.

"Vampire?" Megabyte said the word succinctly.

Adam sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, his face was resigned. "You're not going to believe this, Megabyte, but Angel is a vampire. And there's a lot more to the world than we thought there was."

* * *

   [1]: mailto:shadows@alternate-realities.net



	23. Chapter Twenty-Two

* * *

## A Union of Souls, Chapter Twenty-Two

by [Michele Mason Bumbarger][1]

* * *

Doyle's supposition was wrong. They did not exit the sewers immediately inside of Cordovan's gates; they exited them outside the gates, across the street. Getting through the gates and past the gate guards, both human, was not that difficult. Doyle played the lost drunk while Angel and Rupert incapacitated both men. 

It was getting inside the house that had Rupert Giles a bit worried.

Apparently, the prospect worried the Irishman as well. Hovering in the shadows closest to the front door, he shifted from foot to foot a bit anxiously. His light eyes darted in different directions, always returning to stare questioningly at Angel's back. "Well?"

"Well, what?" Angel snapped.

"Do you have a plan, man, or are we just going to stand out here and pretend to be shrubbery all night?"

"I have a plan." 

"And that would be?"

"Watch my back." With those words, the vampire leapt up onto the front landing and delivered a sound kick to the front door. The door shook under the weight of vampiric strength and swung inward with a loud pop and groan. Immediately, flood-lights filled the yard, swooping and shining on every tree and bush while a cacophony of sirens and noise filled the air.

Doyle shrugged at Rupert as he hefted a stake and joined Angel on the landing. "I guess we're *not* going with the subtle approach."

"No," The former Watcher brought his crossbow to bear, "I suppose we're not."

The first two vampires to charge in their direction became dust in the blinking of an eye. Almost faster than Rupert's eyes could register, Angel's arms shot out to his sides and those finely sharpened stakes shot out from beneath the sleeves of his leather coat. Too late, the vampires registered what was happening; too late they tried to stop and slow. Cries of surprise and pain filled the air before their bodies turned to gray ash and floated to the ground.

"Giles!" Doyle shouted.

With that warning, Rupert turned, aimed, and fired. The vampire stumbled to a halt and then predictably turned to dust. He noticed motion out of the corner of his eye, and swung around, using the crossbow as a club. It smacked loudly across the face of whatever demon creature had been approaching him, sending it stumbling backwards. 

Well, the crossbow could be good for something even if it wasn't loaded.

"Don't fight them!" Angel cried out. It was an odd command to give when he considered that the vampire was surrounded by three figures — and doing precisely that. "Break through!"

Break through indeed. Of course, he saw the logic of Angel's plan. They could stand in the marble tiled foyer for the remainder of the evening and continue to fight off every single guard that Cordovan sent their way. It would still not help them find Ami, nor help them rescue the girl. The problem, however, with breaking through Cordovan's forces was that they didn't know where to break through. They had no way of knowing where in this house the girl was being held.

Rupert turned and swung the crossbow again. Left, then right, then left again for good measure. He lifted his foot and delivered a solid kick to the creature's sternum — at least he assumed it was the beast's sternum; judgement was difficult based on the number of red and blue scales and bony protrusions — knocking said creature from its feet and sending it sailing at least four feet in the other direction. Luckily for him, the demon's fall was broken by a glass table. 

"I don't think he'll be getting up anymore," Rupert muttered.

"Giles, man, this way!" 

He turned, following the sound of Doyle's voice and faltered. The voice belonged to the Irishman. The clothes belonged to the Irishman. The red eyes and scaly face covered with spines did *not* belong to Doyle.

"It's all right. It's Doyle. He's stronger in his demon form." Angel stepped up to his side, nudging him along. The vampire had a bloody gash down his shirt, but he looked no worse for wear. The fact that he had not transformed into his demon visage meant that things weren't as bad as they could be.

"This is your demon form?" Rupert asked the half-man/half-demon with no small amount of curiosity.

"Yeah, I know. It's not a face that the girls love." Rupert did not miss the self-loathing he heard in the half-demon's voice, and it explained Doyle's discomfort with revealing his half-demon nature. It was an interesting idea to consider, a half-demon that found its demon half repellant — but it was an examination that Rupert Giles would have to find time for on another day. Tonight's concern was finding, and rescuing Ami, before she became enslaved to an evil priestess. 

"Are you certain that Ami's down this way?" Rupert asked as Angel made quick work of twisting the neck of some other kind of demon. The crunch of bone echoed loudly in the narrow hallway.

Doyle nodded. "I can smell her."

"Smell her?"

"Brachen demon," Angel explained. "He's got a good sense of smell."

They met up with the second wave of the defense forces at the top of a flight of stairs. The demons and vampires spilled up the staircase, preventing them from charging down. There were more of them, and these were more vicious. A good indication if there ever was one that Ami's rescue squad — vampire, half-demon, and former Watcher — were headed in the proper direction. 

Roughly yanking the knife that had been intended to kill Rupert, from the chest of a now dead demon, and tossing the body from the top of his, Rupert pushed himself disgustedly to his feet. He hefted the blade, decided that he liked it, despite the greenish grayish ichor that was sticking to it. It was definitely more usable than an unloaded crossbow. 

"You do realize —" Rupert blocked a punch from the left with his arm and shoved the creature back a few paces, " — that they're going to keep coming up and —" he brought the knife to bear, only to have his attack blocked by the demon, " — we're never going to go —" He feinted, dodged and cut a messy swath across the monster's abdomen, wincing as it howled in pain, "—down."

"I thought of that. I have it covered." Angel grabbed the last of their assailants, a vampire, by the throat and tossed it back the way it had come. Then with a loud roar and a growl, the vampire threw himself down the narrow staircase after it.

Doyle's red eyes flickered from Rupert to the stairs and back again. "I hate it when he says that."

Rupert blinked at the staircase with mild surprise. "He does this often?"

"He likes to make an entrance."

"I can see that." Rupert retrieved the crossbow from its strap on his back and began quickly re-loading it. "Is Ami—"

"Down there? Oh yeah. Watch my back."

Then, the demon disappeared down the staircase in much the same fashion that the vampire had.

"I'll walk if you don't mind," Rupert commented to no one in particular. He sighed, and giving a quick prayer to the first god of battle that leapt to mind, he began to descend the darkened staircase.

* * *

The scene that greeted him when he emerged from darkness into light was something reminiscent of a bad horror movie. Only, Rupert Giles realized that it was not a bad horror movie at all — this was real life.

The room had been made into a casting chamber. Magickal glyphs and sigils covered the walls, the floors, the tall pillars. Some were black — done in charcoal, some were pastel — done in chalk, and some were deep reddish brown — done in blood. Some were protective, protection for the caster, Rupert recognized. A few were glowing white or blue, but so many more were glowing bright orange and red.

In the very center of all of this, an altar had been created. Ami lay in the center of it, to all appearances dead. She was still, incredibly still, her hands folded neatly on her abdomen, her eyes open and fixed on some point that no one in the room could see. The only hint that she was alive was the faint and occasional rise of her chest beneath the sheet that covered her, the faint motions of her mouth as though she spoke to whatever it was she saw in her mind's eye. Magickal sigils were painted over all the parts of her body. Her forehead, her cheeks, her arms, her shoulders. The red sigils on — and around her — were glowing more brightly than any other in the room. 

The undercurrents of magick sweeping through the chamber were so strong that he had to take a moment, closing his eyes and whispering his own prayers of protection, to avoid being caught up and carried in the storm. 

When he opened his eyes again, he took in more details of the room, his Watcher trained eyes taking them in quickly. The spell-caster, Giselle, who would have struck him as a beautiful woman if he had not registered the darkness of her intentions, stood directly beside Ami's makeshift bed. She held an Orb of Thessulah in her faintly glowing hands, and her lips moved in a slow cadence. Rupert checked his watch. Time. They still had time, but not very much of it. 

His eyes lingered briefly on the Orb of Thessulah. The object was used only in spells where the soul was needed to be captured from the ether and held — or when the soul needed to be held before entering the ether — or forced somewhere else. Rupert had only seen one other spell which required one in recent times; that had been the spell which cursed Angel and gave the vampire the one thing no other vampire had: a soul. It was a powerful object and it's importance and significance was not to be ignored.

At this moment, the Orb was not glowing, meaning that Ami's soul was housed in her body, but that could change at any moment. 

They would have to move quickly.

Quickly, his eyes roamed, checking on the progress of his allies. Angel and Doyle had made a pretty mess of things, piles of dust and a few dead demons lay in various places. But it was clear that their good fortune was beginning to run out. They had finally encountered the thick of Cordovan's forces, and the fight was well-matched. The room that had once been an unfinished basement, had now become a battle-zone, with the life and freedom of a young girl the ultimate prize.

Angel, his human mask dissolved and replaced with bony ridges along his cranium and menacing yellow eyes, was holding his own against another vampire. The two circled and attacked, circled and attacked, almost as if they were dancing and not fighting. The half-demon was not fairing so well.

Raising his crossbow, Rupert took aim and shot one of the Irishman's assailants squarely between the shoulder blades. It howled and turned, glowing red eyes fixed on the him. With a shake of its spiked head, it charged towards the staircase.

Rupert braced himself to meet the beast.

The attack never came. A figure rose up out of nowhere, backhanding the creature to the floor. Attacking while it was down, the figure straddled the monster's chest, plunging two fingers into the creature's eye sockets. The demon creature shrilled and trembled, its entire body convulsing until it lay dead.

Standing and wiping his hands on his pants, the figure turned and smiled at Rupert. He indicated his eyes with two fingers. "Kopor. The eyes. That's where they're vulnerable."

"Whistler." 

"I'll watch your back. You just figure out some way to get those magickal wardings around the kid down so that we can get to her."

"What — Why —" Rupert's words froze in his throat as he received the answer to the question he was preparing to ask. He watched as one of the demons fighting Doyle stumbled backwards, its foot landing between two of the glowing orange sigils closest to Ami's altar. It tossed its head back and screamed in sheer agony, an ear-splitting, earth-shattering scream so full of pain and terror that it made Rupert's blood ice over with fear and horror. While logically he knew that it lasted only a few seconds, it seemed to go on forever as the demon was slowly burned away into nothingness. 

"Right. Wardings. Down," Rupert managed to stumble out when he could reason again. He moved on instinct, his hands and mind on remote as he reached into the bag carrying The Kelsior, an ancient magick text. He made a note to thank Angel later — when they were out of this — for his foresight.

Rupert Giles threw himself into one of the things he did best. He began skimming the book, translating as quickly as he could, in an effort to find a spell to remove the warding. He forced himself to remain focused on the book, not on Angel or Doyle. Even when he heard the yell of pain that he recognized as Angel's. Even when Whistler went down, grappling with a demon.

"Watcher! Hurry it up! We're running out of time!" Whistler hissed.

"You think that I am not aware of that?" Rupert snapped in return. "These things take time, translation, understanding. I can't just cast any spell —"

"Shit." Whistler's word was accompanied by another one of those horrific screams that Rupert could not ignore. His head jerked upwards, following in the direction of the demon's gaze — and the world began to move in slow motion.

He took in all of the details at once. Doyle, standing a few paces from the glowing sigils, terror clearly readable even on his demonic visage. The creature Doyle had been wrestling with, standing beyond the sigils, slowly dissolving into nonexistence. But that was not the reason that his heart clenched in his breast. That was not the reason that all fighting, and all time stopped.

The creature Doyle had thrown into the sigils had bumped against the caster. The Orb of Thessulah, glowing bright yellow with magick — and Ami's soul — flew from the woman's hands, arcing upwards and outwards in a perfect half-circle before it began it's terrifyingly fast descent towards the floor.

"It can't break," Whistler whispered frantically.

Rupert's eyes remained pinned on the Orb. It could not break. It could not break. That would kill the girl. 

The Orb drew closer to the floor. . .

. . . and was caught in a single hand. 

Rupert felt his heart beat again. His eyes clamored up the figure, the hand, the leather clad arm, and he allowed himself to breathe again when he realized that Angel held the Orb.

In the distance a clock chimed.

Ten o' clock. One chime.

Giselle raised her hands and began to cast.

Two chimes.

She could still cast the spell without the Orb.

Three chimes.

She could still cast the spell without the Orb.

Four chimes.

"Angel! She may cast without the Orb in her possession!"

Five.

From where he lay on the floor, holding the precious glowing object in his hand, the vampire's golden eyes met his. Knowledge and sadness flickered there.

Six.

"Watcher! You have to do something now. Counter-spell!" Whistler yelled at him. The demon yelled because as Giselle gathered the flows of magick around her, a wind began whipping through the room. It tore at their hair, their faces, their clothes.

Seven.

"Angel, man, we have to do something!"

Eight.

The vampire raised the Orb in his hand, his eyes closing in resolve.

"Anything but that!"

"It will kill her!"

"He knows," Rupert whispered more to himself than anyone else.

Nine.

"He knows."

The vampire's hand came down, slamming the Orb against the floor, shattering it into a million shards.

Ten.

As the Orb shattered, the wind wailed and whipped up frantically, throwing Rupert back against the stairs. A bright, blinding light buckled up from where the Orb shattered, growing brighter and brighter with each passing moment until it was too bright to stare look at any longer.

Rupert averted his eyes, feeling the light on his skin. It burned. It lashed at him like a thousand whips, like fine sand in a sand storm. Screams echoed in the chamber, the same agony and pained screams of death that he heard earlier, only now they were ten times stronger. They were ten times more painful, ten times more gut-tearing.

If he had cared any at all, he would have been embarrassed that he lost his dinner over the side of the stairs. 

He tried to drag himself away, but he was caught in the center of the storm as was everyone else.

He was forced to ride it out.

It was over as quickly as it had begun.

Sudden stillness and silence descended on the room, the light vanishing in the blinking of an eye.

One single, agony filled scream hung in the air and then, clutching her head, Giselle fell limply to the floor besides Ami's altar.

Ami.

Despite the bitter taste in his mouth, the weakness in his knees, Rupert knew that he had to get to the girl. The sigils no longer glowed, their magick having been somehow — inexplicably — rendered harmless in that last backlash. He wove unsteadily to the altar, only Doyle, who stood closer, made it there before him.

Settled back into his human features, and looking like a man who had been beaten within an inch of his life, he stared up at the former Watcher in shock. His fingers rested on Ami's neck and his mouth moved silently a few times before he could manage to stutter out the words. "She's alive. I don't know how, but she's alive."

Rupert checked for himself. There was a pulse. It was faint and weak, and her skin was far too cold for his comfort, but she was indeed alive. He breathed a sigh of relief; he didn't think that he could have handled the guilt of her death — even if it had been to save her from a fate worse than death.

"Angel?" Rupert asked. "The rest of Cordovan's forces?"

"Destroyed, most of them," Whistler knelt on the floor besides the vampire's still form. "That magick — it destroyed all the ones who weren't smart enough to look away or get down low."

"How's Angel?" Doyle prompted. Then paused, his eyes roving to the very still figure of the woman lying still on the ground. "Giselle."

"Forget about her. She can't harm us right now. She can't harm anyone right now." Rupert was all business again. They had what they came for. Ami was alive and she was whole. If Doyle and Angel wanted to take up a battle with Cordovan and Giselle, they would have future opportunities to do it. He scooped Ami's unmoving form into his arms, turning to see the demon struggling to lift the unconscious vampire to his feet. "I assume you know a different path out of here?"

"Is he dead?" Doyle asked, his voice covered with fear, his eyes on Angel.

"Is he dust?" Whistler grunted in response. "I just don't like the idea of leaving him here to get staked, you know? I didn't pull him out of the sewers for nothing. Help me out, here and we can all get the hell out of this place."

* * *

   [1]: mailto:shadows@alternate-realities.net



	24. Chapter Twenty-Three

* * *

## A Union of Souls, Chapter Twenty-Three

by [Michele Mason Bumbarger][1]

* * *

"I don't understand it." Adam watched as Rupert Giles removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He flipped open the old, worn book he had been reading and sighed dubiously. "I can't find any explanation for this in any of these books. The girl should be dead. The spell had begun, the spirit cord had been severed . . . there is no reason that she should be alive."

Adam twitched in response to the older man's words, his jaw tightening. He clenched his fist tightly, fingernails digging into the palm of his hand as he distracted himself from saying the bitter words that lurked on the tip of his tongue. He knew that Mr. Giles was not trying to be callous or insensitive; he knew that the man was still puzzling over the last bizarre moments before they rescued Ami, when Angel had apparently disrupted Giselle's spell. Mr. Giles didn't want Ami dead. He simply wanted to know why Angel's actions, destroying the Orb of Thessulah during the casting, had not killed his fellow Tomorrow Person.

Megabyte, however, lacked Adam's restraint and he glared at the man sitting on the sofa on the opposite side of the office. "Some of us are kind of happy about that, you know. That's she's alive." 

Mr. Giles looked up from his reflection at the sound of Megabyte's harshly spoken words. "Oh, I'm sorry, Megabyte," he stumbled over the name for not the first time and frowned. Also for not the first time, it was clear that he wanted to call the redhead American something — anything else — but Megabyte. "I didn't mean it the way it sounded. It's simply that, this puzzle . . . I can't seem to understand it, and I daresay our only hope of helping Ami now is to figure out what happened."

"And be glad that we know what didn't happen." Doyle leaned in the doorway to the other office, Angel's office. The half-demon spent what time he didn't spend researching sitting behind the desk of his friend and boss, staring off worriedly into space. It was easy for Adam to see that Doyle and Cordelia were as worried about Angel as he and Megabyte were about Ami. "Giselle never got her soul." He raised his hand and subconsciously touched the bandage on his forehead. "We stopped that at least."

"Well, you should have done better." Ice flashed in Megabyte's eyes as he stalked across the office and out of the entry door. 

Megabyte hadn't added the afterthought, the one fear that hung unspoken in the air between them all. They were happy that Ami was alive, that Angel and his friends had managed to rescue her. However, whether she was truly alive, or stuck in a coma — possibly trapped between planes — and destined to be a vegetable for the rest of her life remained to be seen. 

She had been unconscious, her body freezing cold to the touch, when Mr. Giles, Doyle and Whistler had returned, carrying both Ami and the out of commission vampire. Ami was unresponsive, even to telepathic stimuli, although neither Adam nor Megabyte could detect anything that was wrong with her. Halfway around the world, on an uncharted desert island, a millennium old spaceship appeared to be unconcerned. The general feeling from the Ship was that Ami was merely sleeping — deeply sleeping — but sleeping nevertheless. However, it was difficult for he and Megabyte to take the Ship at its word, when her deep sleep so closely resembled a coma.

Gradually, over the next few hours, while everyone traded off hovering over the sleeping Tomorrow Person, and the vampire whom also never awoke, her body had warmed, rising to a normal temperature. Megabyte had sworn that he saw her stir, but an hour of watching her only gave Adam tired, watery eyes. 

They were trying not to disturb or upset the others, not until they had some answers. Unfortunately, it didn't look like they would have them anytime soon.

Mr. Giles and Doyle passed the time doing research. They plodded through book after book, reading about spells and magickal vortexes, and Mr. Giles placed a few calls back to Sunnydale and London, but still did not receive any answers. Whistler hovered quietly in the background, refusing to look through any books because as he said, "It's all up to The Powers That Be now."

When questioned about his disappearance and unexpected return. The demon shrugged. "I did my part. I only came back to deliver a message to a certain tall and broody vampire. Then my work here is done."

"Well, that's a little hard when he's like been hit with a whammy and isn't waking up, isn't it?" Cordelia demanded.

"Oh, he'll wake up, sweetheart. You'll see."

He would say no more, and eventually, everyone — including Mr. Giles — gave up asking the demon any questions. 

Adam wished that Angel would awaken. Apparently the vampire had been unconscious since interrupting the spell-casting and from the things that Mr. Giles, and Whistler, implied, it was no doubt connected to Ami's current state as well. If Angel woke up, there was a good chance that Ami would — or at least that he might know more than they did. It was a small hope, but it was better than no hope at all.

Adam stared after Megabyte a long moment, studying the closed office door and processing Megabyte's hurt and fear before finally turning back to Doyle. He offered the Irishman a smile of apology, "He's upset."

"Aye, he's worried about Ami. Both of you are. And I understand it." He folded his arms across his chest, his gaze going downward. Not focusing on the floor beneath his feet, but rather on the vampire who slept in the apartment below. "It's funny how carin' about somebody will do that to you."

There didn't seem to be answer for that, so Adam simply sank to the sofa and did what they all had been doing.

He waited. And hoped. And prayed.

* * *

Angel awoke to a cacophony of sound and images, feelings, emotions and knowledge that disoriented and bewildered him. On the very edges of his awareness, he knew where he was, he recognized the smell of the leather sofa of his apartment, the familiar shadows of the place he called home. But those thoughts were nearly impossible to hold onto among the chaos that swirled in his head. His mind felt like it had been ripped into a thousand splinters, then shattered and ripped again. The demon fought and lashed out, crying for blood, screaming in hunger and despair, rattling the bars of a gilded silver cage that Angel could picture briefly in his mind's eyes. The picture was brief because it imploded and shattered into a thousand other images, some familiar, some unfamiliar and each and every one beyond his mental grasp. Every feeling he had ever had, every thought he ever voiced, every desire that he ever possessed buffeted and raged against him before being torn away yet again. His relived his entire existence repeatedly, over and over again, superimposed on the kaleidoscope of memory and image that on one level did not belong to him, and on another level did.

A part of him recognized that he should be able to make sense of the pictures, places and faces swirling in the mist and maze that had become his existence, but he could not. Those blurred and swirled around him, buffeting him in feeling and emotion that seemed both alien and a part of him at the same time.

. . . a man's face, kind and laughing . . . the soft cries of a little girl as the face fades from view. . . a woman baking cookies . . . a spelling bee . . . a piano recital . . . a funeral . . . a sandy beach . . . a blonde girl waving . . . 

It was the same as it had been forever it seemed like, but he knew it had only been since he lifted the Orb of Thessaluh over his head. He had only been living this maddening and splintered life, which replayed itself as viciously in dreams as it did when he was awake, since he shattered the Orb at his feet and felt the disrupted magickal energies cut him through, searing him to his very soul.

The more alert he became, the faster the images came. Flickering through his shattered brain more quickly than he could even process. The thoughts were not all his, and yet they were apart of him, emblazoned into his memory, his heart and his soul as surely as if he had lived every moment of it himself. 

A young woman, blonde very pretty killing monsters . . .a sterile hospital corridor . . . a man wearing glasses reading an old leather bound book . . .an alien environment pulsing blue light . . .Halloween costumes . . . Ancient Egypt . . .

And behind it all, just beyond the images . . . the pain. He had experienced pain before, pain times one hundred. He had experienced pain worse than death during his stay in hell, but it paled in contrast to this. It was but a pinpricking of the finger compared to the agony that knifed at him now. An agony so severe that he would have thrown himself out in sunlight to end it, had he been able. As it was, he could barely force himself to a sitting position, force himself to his feet.

The pain was like fine silver threads cutting into him — not into his physical self, but into his psychic self, into his soul — and into the demon. Which explained the demon's bloodlust and violence, it explained why Angel could feel his demonic visage falling into place, and was powerless to shift back to his human guise. He cried out against the pain, struggling to control the demon, to shove it back in that cage that still flickered and flashed in his mind's eye, but the pain distracted him.

Solace. He had to find solace. His body moved instinctively, half-walking, half-lurching towards the partially open door of his bedroom. He stumbled, once, twice, but still forced himself to keep walking. The closer he drew to that door, the more the pain lessened. It was only a minute lessening, but even that was enough solace from the blinding agony that tore at him as a wild beast tears at its prey.

Solace met him halfway, seeking him as he sought her and they stumbled to the floor together. Meeting her dark shadowed and desperate eyes gave him a few moments of coherent thought; the touch of her hands cut the pain in half. 

And it was still not enough. The world continued to splinter and rebuild itself around him, over and over again, an endless black hole that he could not climb out of. The silver threads continued to lash at him, and her half-ragged sobs joined his own.

The demon howled and raged, hearing the beating of her heart, smelling the sweetness of the blood that flowed just beneath her skin. Wave after wave of fire and agony struck at them both while he fought against his baser nature. 

Strike, strike.

The demon won, breaking free of the weak hold he kept on it. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, fangs easily breaking into the tender skin. Her life's essence spilled forth, the sweet elixir pouring into his mouth and down his throat. Her hands and nails clawed at his back, his hair — not pushing him away but drawing him in because as he fed, the pain lessened, waning and fading, waning and fading. As her blood infused his body, the splintering of mind and soul stopped and the maelstrom of chaos retreated.

The demon gave a final, piercing howl, thrown back into the silver cage that Angel could now clearly see in his mind. Thrown back as with the last vestiges of strength, a wave of horror and repulsion coming over, he tore himself away from her body, trembling with fear at what he had just done.

Coherent thought and reason soared to life.

"Oh God, no, Ami." 

Her eyes met his, her gaze clear and unwavering.

The door to the silver cage slammed shut.

The cacophony of noise and imagery, emotion and memory abruptly ended.

Silence and stillness reigned.

And they were whole.

* * *

   [1]: mailto:shadows@alternate-realities.net



	25. Chapter Twenty-Four

* * *

## A Union of Souls, Chapter Twenty-Four

by [Michele Mason Bumbarger][1]

* * *

"Your souls have been bonded." Whistler made the announcement as though he was announcing the sports scores. 

Still a bit disoriented, very tired and weak, and beginning to feel the start of a splitting headache, Ami leaned back against the headboard of Angel's bed. The Tomorrow Person drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She said nothing, her eyes flickering from the vampire to the demon and back again.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Angel demanded. He was too weak to stand, but he managed to look quite menacing from where he sat in the armchair.

"You know exactly what it means," Whistler sighed. "Both of you do."

Ami still said nothing. Mainly because there was nothing to say. Yes, she knew what it meant and she *knew* that Angel did as well. She was aware of him on every level, aware that while he was sitting several feet away from her, their thoughts and feelings continued to crash and collide, jumbling and wrapping around one another. It was similar to and yet one hundred times different from her awareness of her fellow Tomorrow People. Her awareness of Angel was closer, stronger and somehow a thousand times more intimate and more intense.

Her mind raced backwards as she tried to make sense of everything and failed. Nothing had made much sense since she awoke to find herself going mad with pain and confusion. She had stumbled from Angel's bed more on instinct than with any conscious thought, seeking out the one thing that would ease her pain and suffering. She had no more known that it would be Angel than he had known it would be her.

The others had found them not very long afterwards. They had remained where they were on the floor, simply clinging desperately to one another while their minds, bodies and souls sought to make sense of everything. Whistler immediately tried to sweep them both away for a private conversation, but Adam — and Rupert — would not hear of it. Rupert was particularly alarmed when he found the bite on Ami's throat.

It had taken a while to get everyone calmed down. Calming down everyone included convincing Cordelia that Angel hadn't 'gone evil' again. And in the end, Adam and Giles had only conceded to allow Whistler this moment 'alone' with them if they could be present. Which had brought several protests from Megabyte, Doyle and Cordelia until Angel silenced them all with a menacing growl.

Now they gathered in Angel's bedroom, Ami seated on the bed with Adam hovering protectively by her side while Rupert leaned in the doorway and Whistler paced the length of the bedroom. 

"Well," Rupert removed his glasses and lowered his head to his hands, pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. Random thoughts floated through the newly formed link she shared with Angel, and she knew the man only did that when he was frustrated. "Why don't you try explaining it for those of us who don't know what it means?"

Whistler did as he was told, but he directed the explanation not at Rupert Giles or Adam, but rather towards the two hundred and forty-six year old vampire who looked as though he was about to develop a taste for demons. "You're linked together now. You'll always be aware of one another, your minds, your thoughts. You'll learn to compensate, if you want. You'll gain back your privacy. And it's not as bad as it sounds—"

"It's not as bad as it sounds?" Rupert sputtered in indignation. "You're saying that an innocent girl has been soul-bond to a vampire and it's not as bad as it sounds? I suppose the next thing you'll be telling me is that really, opening the Hellmouth won't be as terrible as everyone's come to believe."

For the first time since meeting him, Angel was surprised to see the demon actually bristle in anger. Ami took a breath, shaking her head, amazed at how clearly the vampire's thought came through to her. 

"There's a big difference between what's happened here and opening the Hellmouth, Watcher. So don't make light of it."

"Is there?" Angel asked. There was a heavy, mournful edge to his voice, that nearly brought tears to Ami's eyes. He agreed with Rupert — there didn't seem to be much difference in her being bond to him than in the opening of the Hellmouth.

That was less than flattering and certainly not comforting.

"The Powers That Be choose her for this. Whether you like it or not, there it is."

Angel's dark eyes sought out her gaze. The eye contact was electric; neither of them could hide anything when their eyes met, and she knew the moment that contact was made that he had been as aware of her thoughts as she was of his. She also knew that he hadn't meant to be insulting. His words were aimed at the demon, but his gaze never wavered from hers. "Why is she being punished?"

"Angelus, this isn't a punishment. They don't work that way."

"Don't They?" His gaze slid away from hers, pinning Whistler where he stood. 

"No, They don't. Sure, I'll be the first to admit that They do a lot of things for their own reasons, but if They wanted to punish someone, They would find a different way to do it. They certainly don't punish the innocent.

"Look, you know as much about this as I do now. This is all a part of Their plan. You've been given an ally. Don't abuse it. And you," Whistler turned to look at her now, making certain that he had her full attention, "have been given a second chance at life. You know They brought you here for a purpose. Maybe it's the purpose you were born for. Whatever the case, you can't change it. No one can. You just have to learn to accept it."

"So that's it, then?" Adam demanded. "That's all you have to say? You walk around acting like you know so much when in the end you don't know anything at all."

"I know that I've spent a lot of years listening to the Powers That Be, kid, so don't try to jerk my chain. They tell me what They want me to know, and then if I should, I pass it on."

"You knew about this." Coming from anyone else the accusation would have been high-pitched and possibly tinted with hysterics. Coming from Angel it held a note of malice and venom, and Ami was grateful that she was not the one it was directed at. She hoped to never be the one that sort of thinly veiled ire was aimed towards.

The demon actually experienced a moment of fear. Angel smelled it, processed it and she became aware of it as well. Ami closed her eyes briefly, drawing what little energy she had left, and tightened her shields. The only way to block out Angel seemed to be to block out everyone, but that would have to do for now.

As she did, Adam gave her a concerned and startled glance. She could tell that he thought something was wrong — something besides what was immediately obvious — and she flashed him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. Ami avoided looking at Angel period.

"I knew that this would happen, yes. I didn't know when . . . or how," Whistler admitted, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I was sent here to make sure it happened, to make certain that you sealed the bond."

Ami's hand instinctively rose to the bandage on her throat, touching it gingerly. She felt three pairs of eyes knowing flicker towards her, but she continued to watch Whistler. She didn't need to look at Adam or Rupert to know that they were staring at her with concern. "So, what happens now?"

Whistler scooped his ugly, battered hat from the dresser and placed it on his head. "That's up to you, now. I've done my part, delivered the message that I had to deliver." He nodded to Rupert and Adam, turning lastly to Angel. "I'm sure this won't be the last I'll see of you, Angelus."

"If only I could be so lucky."

Whistler inclined his head towards Ami, but kept his attention on the vampire. His voice dropped, a low whisper that was still loud enough to be heard by everyone in the room. "This is gift, you know. There's supposed to be power in these sorts of things, you just have to figure out what that power is. And check the demon — you might be surprised."

With those words, Whistler turned and ducked out of the bedroom, never looking back.

"Yes, well," Rupert paused, returning his glasses to his face. He gave Ami a nod and a half-smile that she knew was meant to reassure. "If there is a way to reverse this — bond — we will find it. In the meantime, you should probably see about getting some rest. You've lost blood and it will take a while to recover from that." 

Ami merely nodded in response to his suggestion.

He turned and walked towards the door, stopping in the doorway to look at Adam. His pale eyes flickered from the eldest of the Tomorrow People to Ami to Angel and then back again. "Adam, would you join me? I think that we very much need to talk."

[Ami?] She heard Adam's voice in her mind.

[Go on,] Ami urged him, [I'll be all right.]

[If you're sure . . .]

Ami glanced towards Angel. The vampire's eyes were focused on the doorway, but even shielded, she knew that he wasn't looking at the doorway. He was in thought, his brow partially furrowed in concentration. [I'm positive, Adam. I'll be fine.]

Her friend took a last, long glance at Angel before nodding in acquiescence. [If you need anything . . .]

"I'll shout," Ami smiled and gave his hand a squeeze. Her first words spoken aloud caused Rupert to raise his eyebrows at them and then shake his head.

"More and more curious," the man muttered as Adam followed him from the bedroom.

Left alone with the vampire, Ami watched him and waited. It was unbelievable how much had happened in the span of just a few days. Her life had been turned completely and wholly inside out and upside down, and she had been — and was still powerless — to do anything about it. In a just a few short days, she went from thinking that she knew everything there was to know about the world and its mysteries — the Tomorrow People being top on that list — to discovering that she was as uninformed and blind as the majority of the world's populace. If someone had told her that moving to Los Angeles would result in being kidnapped by a power crazy witch of black magick and wind up soul-bond to a vampire, she would have laughed at them. 

The question she didn't have an answer to was whether or not she would have still moved to Los Angeles *if* she had known.

"Well, I'll be damned," Angel whispered, mostly to himself as he shook himself from whatever trance and thoughts he was submerged in. He looked up and around the room, his eyes finally coming to rest on her. 

"Something wrong?" Ami asked quietly. Something besides what was obviously wrong.

"The demon . . . it's . . . controlled," Angel explained and then shook his head, dismissing the subject entirely. "Giles is right. You need to get some rest. You need to —" His eyes flickered briefly to her throat, and she watched him wince slightly, "Recover."

"Angel—"

"We'll talk later." He pushed himself to his feet, a note of finality and a ring of promise in his voice. "We'll have more than enough time to talk. But right now, rest."

Ami opened her mouth to object, then snapped her jaw tightly closed. He was right, of course, if Whistler's words about the bond rang true, if Rupert didn't find a way to reverse the effect, there would be plenty of time to talk.

Right now, Ami just needed to think. And . . . sleep.

* * *

   [1]: mailto:shadows@alternate-realities.net



	26. Chapter Twenty-Five

* * *

## A Union of Souls, Chapter Twenty-Five

by [Michele Mason Bumbarger][1]

* * *

Angel stepped from the bedroom, pulling the door closed behind him. He felt drained, impossibly drained. Even after ingesting three bags of blood, he still had regained little of his strength and stamina. But that didn't matter to him really; it didn't change anything and it didn't stop the necessity of work that needed to be done.

"Doyle." Angel called to the half-demon, holding onto the doorknob for support while he gathered all the energy he would require for the short walk to the elevator. 

"Hey, Angel, man," Doyle approached him quickly, pausing a few feet away and folding his arms across his chest. "You know, you don't look too good?"

"Yeah, you look even more dead than normal," Cordelia cheekily informed him. "How do you feel?"

"Like I've been to hell and back," Angel responded, feeling his mouth quirk into a slight smile at Cordelia's unique display of concern. His eyes made a quick circuit of the room, locating Adam and Giles, and the other teleporter — Tomorrow Person — Megabyte. The fleeting thoughts and memories that he had gathered from Ami while they were caught at the edge of the seal of the bond, filled in the blanks. 

His thoughts scattered briefly, focusing almost completely on the bond and the Tomorrow Person slowly drifting to sleep on the other side of the door. She had dampened down their link — something he wished he had thought of sooner — effectively muting the buffeting and cascading of their minds and emotions against one another, and for that he was grateful. It was hard enough dealing with the constant gnawing awareness of the demon, he wasn't sure how he would adjust to living with another awareness. 

He would have to, he knew that much. He had been in this game long enough to know that what The Powers That Be did was seldom to be undone. And to their way of thinking, everything They did was for some purpose or another. Why else would They have sent Whistler to pull him out of a gutter and speed him on his way to Sunnydale and Buffy Summers? Why pull him out of hell — and yes, he was convinced now that he had been freed from hell by Them. They sent him Doyle, They sent him missives, and now, for reasons he probably would never comprehend, They had sent him Ami as well.

Angel forced the random musings aside. He could worry about that later. Right now, there were more pressing issues. "How much time did we lose?"

"Lose?" Doyle looked up, and then nodded as he made the connection. "You've been out for a day and a half. I've been keepin' an ear to the ground and there's not a sign of Cordovan, Giselle or any of his forces anywhere."

"I should think not," Giles remarked. "It seems to me that his forces were badly decimated in that backlash. I'm still amazed it didn't incinerate us all as well."

"Well, we know why," Angel walked slowly across the room, sinking to the sofa. As he did so, he released an unnecessary sigh of relief to have accomplished walking that short distance. "It's also a good thing. I want to strike while his guard is down. He won't be expecting us again. We can go back in—"

"Angel, you're not seriously considering going back into the enemy camp?" Giles demanded.

"You don't leave an enemy at your back," Angel reminded the former Watcher. "You know this as well as I do. We still have a chance to take down his power base —"

"Angel," Doyle sat on the coffee table across from him, clamping him on the shoulder, "I want you to know that I say this with all due respect —"

"You're crazy," Cordelia overrode Doyle's words. "That is like complete and total suicide. I mean, you're not Batman, okay? Mr. I've-been-playing-dead-for-almost-two-days-and-I-still-think-that-I-can-go-out-and-fight-the-evil, would you like to wake up now? 

"You are like so completely useless right now that Doyle could take you."

"Hey!" Doyle protested.

Giles interrupted before Cordelia and Doyle could lapse into one of their infamous quarrels. "Angel, I have to agree with Cordelia and Doyle. You truly are not in any condition to go out and face Cordovan or his forces."

"Giles, I have a responsibility—"

"Oh, yes, I've heard all about your responsibility and your mission. Help the helpless, slay evil where you find it, aid all those in Doyle's visions." Giles sank into the armchair, removing his glasses as he caught and held Angel's gaze. "But do I need to remind you that you have another responsibility now? One that you should consider before you rush off into battle and get yourself killed.

"You're weak. And the bond is much too new for us to have any idea how you going out and getting injured or worse — killed — will affect her. Is that truly a risk you want to take, Angel?"

Angel didn't know what he hated more: being lectured by Rupert Giles or being lectured by Rupert Giles when he recognized every word the man said as being true and right. He nodded, slowly and reluctantly in acquiescence.

He would stay in tonight. 

"We'll get another chance at Cordovan," Doyle promised.

Angel was counting on it.

* * *

   [1]: mailto:shadows@alternate-realities.net



	27. Epilogue

* * *

## A Union of Souls, Epilogue

by [Michele Mason Bumbarger][1]

* * *

Sunset. Not nearly as beautiful as what he recalled of sunrise, but still it held a magic and beauty of its own. The perfect moment, when the sun sank beneath the horizon, when Angel could actually stand and gaze on the after image of its light. Standing on the roof of the building, Angel leaned forward, resting his arms comfortably on the ledge. Another night was falling in the city of angels, another soul somewhere would be hurting and in need of aid. As for the two souls bond together, Angel still hadn't decided whether it was deliverance or punishment. 

He still wrestled with the question of 'what if.' If he had known then what he knew now, would he have crushed the orb? Would he have tried to escape with it instead and allow Giles to work his magick? Deep down inside, he knew the answer; he would have acted as he had because it was the only way to keep Ami truly free of Cordovan and Giselle. Unfortunately, unless Giles' research turned up something, the Tomorrow Person would never be free of the vampire.

Thinking of Ami as he was, his mind could not help but attune itself to her. He hadn't seen her for nearly a week – not that he could blame her. Sharing your soul and being bonded with a vampire couldn't be high on her list of things she wanted to do before she died. In a way, he was glad to not have seen her – it meant that he didn't have to feel guilt over what had happened – even if Giles and Doyle had repeatedly reminded him that he had nothing to feel guilty for. How wrong they were. He had two hundred years to feel guilty for; and if he'd been able to protect Ami, this would never have happened to begin with.

So much for Doyle's warning visions.

She was very, very close now. That surprised Angel the moment his mind locked onto the knowledge. After a week of avoidance, a week when she only spoke to Doyle or Cordelia, she was here. She was climbing the stairs to the rooftop. 

She was looking for him.

He listened as the door to the roof swung open, listened as she padded softly up to his side. He felt her approach, felt the lightness of her soul and instinctively, he closed his eyes, savoring that light. The demon stirred, but did not rattle the bars of its cage. It was a part of the bond that he could not deny that he enjoyed. She seemed to lift some of the darkness -- and she was able to quell the demon.

Ami mimicked his stance, leaning forward against the cement ledge to look at the city sprawled beneath them. He couldn't tell what she was thinking, they had made certain of that in the early days of this bond. She was used to holding her mental shields, used to filtering the thoughts of others away from her own. Angel had discovered that it was not so difficult to damp down the link between their minds. As Whistler had said, they would learn to compensate. And they were learning. 

"Doyle told me that I would find you up here," Ami said simply, her clipped accent floating across the stillness of falling night. 

"Dusk. It's my time." 

"I like this part of sunset," Ami mused. "Right before it's perfectly dark. When the sky turns purple and the sun disappears, and day meets night."

Angel shot her a glance out of the corner of his eye. He wondered if she was trying to apply some subtle metaphor to describe their current situation. If she was, she said nothing more. The young woman never even turned her head in his direction, continuing to stare across the cityscape. 

They stood like that, side by side until full night rose, without a single hint of purple in the sky, darkness cloaking them. It was hardly a comfortable silence of camaraderie, but Angel had to admit that something about it felt right. Having her there felt right . . . if a bit awkward. After all, what did one say and how did one interact with the person whom The Powers That Be had chosen as your soul-mate? How did you interact with someone who was, for lack of a better word, an intimate stranger? 

"I was thinking," she surprised him by speaking again, but still not looking at him, "I want to help out. I want to work with you. And Doyle and Cordelia." 

That was unexpected. Angel turned to look at her, noting that she purposely avoided his eyes, drawing invisible patterns on the ledge. He said nothing, watching her and waiting. Somehow he knew that she wasn't quite done yet . . . that she hadn't said all that she wanted to say.

Her head rose slowly, her dark eyes meeting his. The effect of achieving eye contact was still there, linking them immediately and completely. But this time it wasn't nearly as unexpected, or as invasive. She held a tight rein on her mental shields, holding her thoughts inside and keeping his out. Yes, he still felt a wash of emotion, and the pressing awareness and knowledge of her, that never changed. But he was grateful for her telepathic abilities and her previously learned ability to shield. It protected them both until they were ready to be that intimate with one another. If they ever would be. "I came to Los Angeles just to get away from home and spread my wings. I guess I've done that -- and then some. But something has always been missing and I think this is it.

"I like what you're doing, helping people and fighting evil and I want to be a part of that . . . whatever way I can. I want to help people. I want to help you." She lowered her eyes again as she said the last, her voice dropping to a barely audible whisper. Had it not been for his preternatural hearing, he would not have heard her next words, "If you don't mind, that is."

Angel considered her for a long moment, staring thoughtfully at the top of her head. Fate, destiny and The Powers That Be had thrown them together, and if he had learned nothing else from his time in Sunnydale and his few short months in Los Angeles, it was that he really couldn't argue with them. He didn't understand them, or what they did, but if it was a step along the path to his redemption, then he would accept it. And if Ami thought that she fit in with their rag-a-tag group, then who was he to argue with her? 

Doyle and Cordelia had already accepted her inevitable presence in his life, and their lives by default, as could be seen by the number of times one, or both, of them had gone down to campus to see her since that first occasion when he sent them. So, perhaps she did belong here, perhaps she did fit in with them. 

And if Ami wanted to be here . . . maybe Doyle was right. Maybe she didn't blame him for any of this, maybe she really did want to make the best of things. Maybe she really was a part of his redemption.

Hesitantly Angel reached out a hand, hooking a finger under her chin to force her eyes up to his. Angel felt inexplicably relieved when she didn't flinch away at his touch. "You know what we do isn't easy, Ami. It's dangerous, it's –"

The vampire stopped as the eyes of the young woman before him widened. He could see the wheels turning in her head, and he sighed as he realized a bit belatedly that if she hadn't already figured that out she never would. "Well, Cordelia keeps saying that she could use an assistant. And we could probably use another set of eyes. And a typist and someone who can file. . . if you want to do this and be here . . . you're more than welcome."

"But no fighting," the vampire amended quickly. "You don't fight."

Ami smiled, a bright smile that completely touched her eyes. Angel actually felt the relief and elation that rolled off of her. It made his smile widen. "Thank you, Angel."

At that moment, the door swung open again and Cordelia appeared, Doyle fast on her heels.

She nodded a quick hello to Ami before directing her attention at Angel. "I am pleased to say that our – your check – from very rich and very grateful grandma, just cleared the account. So our little venture here is now a good several thousand dollars richer. Therefore, I think we need to talk about that raise now."

"Raise?" Angel was actually taken by surprise.

Doyle straightened up as well. "What makes you think you get a raise?"

"How about to compensate for my broken nails and destroyed wardrobe for starters? And let's not forget the mental anguish and hazard pay that I'm not getting."

Angel could see that Doyle was prepared to say something else, and he cut in smoothly. "You know, Cordelia, you really are a big help to us, but you've been going on for so long about needing an assistant that I kind of hired one for you. Of course, that means we can't really give you a raise."

The brunette considered it. "You really hired me an assistant?"

Angel shrugged as innocently as he could manage, winking discretely at the Tomorrow Person who was watching him, her mouth tightened in barely restrained laughter. "You said that you needed one because there was so much to be done. Not to mention all those auditions you would be able to go to."

"True," Cordelia nodded. "But how do we know that you didn't hire someone evil? Or worse? This is LA, you know."

"You be the judge." Angel motioned towards Ami, "Meet your new assistant."

The former cheerleader turned and looked at Ami as if suddenly remembering the other girl's presence. She blinked, her voice of disbelief. "You?" Her head whipped back towards Angel, "Her?"

The vampire lifted an inquiring eyebrow and Cordelia indignantly defended herself. "Not that it's a bad thing. I just don't understand – why? What did Angel do, twist your arm? Go all 'grr' on you?"

"I want to help out, Cordelia. I offered."

"You *want* to spend all your free time with Soul-boy and Demon-guy over there? Well, not like you have much of a choice with Soul-boy, but wouldn't you rather do something that will ensure a long life and healthy skin? Like maybe -- frat parties?"

"I think you're doing a good thing. I want to be a part of it."

"I just want to go on record as saying I think that the whole soul-bond thing has fried your brain. Just so that's on the record, and I can say 'I told you so' later," Cordelia shook her head, but her voice and her eyes were smiling as she linked her arm affectionately through Ami's and pulled the Tomorrow Person back towards the roof entrance. "Come on, I'll get you all set up. You can have Doyle's desk. He doesn't use it for anything except resting his feet anyway. And he's never happy with the coffee, so don't worry about how strong or weak it is. Never let Doyle or Angel near the files because I swear they wouldn't know the alphabet if it jumped up and bit them on the ass. Are you getting all this? It's okay if you're not, because we can go over it again . . ."

The door closed behind them, thankfully cutting off Cordelia's prattle.

"So, the little lady's going to join forces with us now?" Doyle asked thoughtfully.

Angel nodded, turning back to stare out across the city. "I guess she is."

"You're all right with that?"

Remembering the light in Ami's eyes when he agreed to accept her help, Angel felt his own lips turn up into a smile. "Yeah, Doyle, I think I am."

* * *

**~*~ End ~*~**

* * *

   [1]: mailto:shadows@alternate-realities.net



End file.
